With Or Without You
by SkySpade
Summary: Seven years postRent, Mark returns to New York City trying to cope with his past.
1. Rough Landing

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from the work on this site. No copyright infringement is intended and nothing is to be taken as fact.

**Ch1: Rough Landing**

**December 1998, 3:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

_Forever, I am here to stay with you through all the years…_

A voice, so soft, coursed through his brain like a warm slither of air. It was unwelcome, yet he would give all his heart to hear the voice again. In the still of the night, as his blond head arched back into the uncomfortable a white pillow, he jammed his eyes shut and struggled to keep the soft whisperings from his mind. It never worked. They always came back to haunt him eventually. Still, as half his mind fought off the still-growing voice, there was another half trying and failing to pay attention to what was calling out.

He could still remember the moment she had whispered those words in his ears. It was all still so clear in his mind, even after all these years. That night the stars had been out in the sky, millions of them. They sat on a log near a make-shift fire huddled together in a blanket, so close together that soon enough their hands were intertwined and their cheeks fell against each other lovingly. They talked about the future, the future they were going to have together.

The future they were _supposed_ to have together.

Someone shook his arm. "Excuse me, sir?" Blue eyes blinked rapidly and suddenly focused on the blurry image of a young woman wearing a thin smile. "We'll be landing in New York in just a few minutes," she said, whispering. "Is there anything I can get you before we land?"

Mark Cohen sighed. Being caught in an old dream by a flight attendant did not thrill him. Carefully, he reached over to the tray in front of him and placed his glasses delicately onto his face before pushing it back into its place. He looked towards the woman, who was still smiling, and said, "Thank you for waking me up. I don't think there is anything…"

She nodded politely. "Your daughter is beautiful."

Smiling, Mark mumbled a small "thank you" to her back as she moved to wake up the next sleeping man in a seat two rows up. Mark looked to his side and his heart did a large flip at the sight in front of him.

_His _daughter. That would never get old.

Paige Audrey Cohen was her name. She was just shy of her fifth birthday, the day after Christmas. Hugging her worn-out penguin close to her skinny body, Paige's head lolled down against Mark's shoulder. She was the spitting image of her mother with long brown hair. Her eyes, though, were all Mark's.

As she shivered involuntarily, Mark bent down carefully and pulled the young girl's light black jacket, with white stripes down the arms, tighter around her body. Barely noticing the smile creep onto his face, Mark kissed his daughter's forehead and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Paige mumbled a few incoherent words under her breath but did not wake up as she fidgeted slightly in her seat before settling down again.

The plane roared before jumping as the wheels hit solid ground and rolled into a smooth landing into New York City.

_How could I be back here again,_ Mark thought, _when, before, all I wanted to do was leave?_

He adjusted his glasses on his face and barely paid attention to the raspy voice of the pilot telling them that he hoped everybody enjoyed their flight and would have a nice time in New York City. Mark watched the various people stumble out of their seats and down the long aisle towards the exit of the plane. Waiting until he and Paige were one of the only ones left, Mark very carefully hauled his camera bag onto his shoulder before scooping Paige into his arms and carrying her off the plane. She closed her arms around him, still holding onto her stuffed penguin, nuzzling her face into his neck contently. Mark smiled.

"December 24th, 3:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time," he whispered to himself, more for old time's sake than anything else. He slowly walked toward baggage claim and picked up a medium-sized duffle bag, staggering slightly as he straightened to balance himself out. He hadn't actually brought much to New York–just a few clothes for him and Paige, a few of Paige's amusements to keep her busy, and his camera. Their things would follow soon.

Walking out of the airport nearly thirty minutes after they got off the plane, Mark hailed a cab and muttered out the address to the elderly cabbie. He'd found a motel just outside the city, not too small but not too expensive either, keeping it as far away from the Life Café as possible. Mark just couldn't stand the idea of facing his old friends after all these years. At least, not until he figured out something to say to them…

New York certainly was beautiful, just as Mark had always remembered. He adjusted Paige in his arms before climbing out of the cab, tossing the old man a crumpled wad of dollar bills. Snow fell from the dark skies and Mark watched fondly as the white flakes fell gracefully into Paige's brown hair.

"Daddy…" Paige whimpered silently, burying her face deeper into Mark's neck. "I'm cold-"

Mark grinned down at the back of her head as she shivered against his body, warming him slightly with her body heat. He situated Paige in his arms slightly and slinked his jacket off before covering her up with it as if it were a big blanket. "Better?"

"Mmhmm," she mumbled, her shivers subsiding slowly. "Wha's it cold for?"

He patted her back slightly and chuckled. "It's always cold in New York. Now, come on out of there. Don't you want to see your very first snow?"

Paige bustled in Mark's arms before pushing her tiny arms out in front of herself and tilting her head up towards the sky. Mark knew that she had never seen snow and was already fascinated by it, watching in deep concentration as the white substance floated down from above and landed on the wet cement below, occasionally sticking to the ground. There was no snow in Los Angeles. The complete and utter fascination in her eyes melted Mark's heart to every length.

"Ish pretty," Paige marveled sleepily as she stuck her tongue out trying to catch a snowflake in her mouth, as all kids did at one time or another. "Can I play in it?"

"It's a bit late now." Mark smiled, tucking his coat tighter around Paige's body as he stepped into the motel and brushed the white dust off her clothes. He quickly gave the receptionist his papers and grabbed the offered key before heading off for the room. As Mark found the door to the rented room, he said, "How about I take you to the park tomorrow and you can play in it then."

"But," Paige puffed her lips out sadly, "won't it be gone? I don't wanna miss the snow!"

"It won't be gone." Mark chuckled, suddenly reminded of a similar conversation he'd held with his mother back when they visited his grandparents in Chicago and it had started snowing.

"Promise?" Blue eyes widened excitedly as Mark set her down in one of the two beds that lay in the room. Mark pulled off her boots before gently placing the covers over her small body and tucking them in close. "You gotta promise!" she pouted.

Mark nodded, nuzzling his nose with Paige's. "I promise, my sweet."

Giggling, Paige smiled. "You're silly, Daddy!"

He kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, sweetie; we've got a long day tomorrow. I'm gonna show you New York City's finest attractions and than we're going to find somewhere permanent to live. Than you'll get your own room and later we'll be able to decorate it however you want it. Okay? Soon, you'll learn to love New York like I do."

Eyes closed, Paige smiled.

Mark spent a few minutes watching his daughter drift into a peaceful sleep before climbing off the bed, careful not to wake Paige in the process. He made his way towards the window and easily pushed the curtains aside to stare deeper into the December snow. It was funny, really, how almost everything happened in December. Funny how almost every memory loomed around the Christmas holiday when Mark wasn't even supposed to be celebrating it because of his religion. Even the snow had something to do with it.

_It was snowing when I left_, Mark thought to himself as he ran a hand through his blond hair.

"_I really thought I could do it," Mark said as he tossed various articles of clothing into the almost-full duffle bag he had laid out on his bed. He tried to ignore the green eyes that seemed to follow his every movement and burn into his back. "It's almost funny how much I thought I could handle this. You know, the more I think of it I continue to ask myself why I didn't leave sooner. Over the years, I found reasons to stay, but not now…""_

Mark ranted and raved to Roger. Roger had said nothing. He hadn't done or said anything to try to change Mark's mind, just stood and watched as the blond filmmaker ran out of his life for the next seven years. Honestly, Mark hadn't meant to be gone for that long. Originally, it was to be only a month, just to sort things out and make sense of things. Just to spend the time finding another reason to stay in New York.

_Still,_ Mark looked towards Paige's sleeping form, _I think some miracles came out of this._

**January 1994, 3:32 AM, Pacific Standard Time**

"_Thank you so much."_

_The tired voice startled Mark out of his stupor as he shifted on his rocking chair and careened his neck behind him to find a very tired-looking brunette leaning on the doorway. Against his chest, little Paige sighed and sucked her thumb as her eyes closed against the darkness of the nursery. He looked over to the electric alarm clock blinking red numbers: 3:32 AM._

"_It's not a problem," Mark whispered back as a smile flickered across his face and he bent his head down to kiss little Paige's forehead. "She's sleeping now, there's nothing else to do except wait a while. Just to make sure. You can go back to bed if you want to. You deserve it."_

_To tell the truth, Audrey Cohen did look tired. Bags were slowly growing under her eyes and beneath that small curve of a smile masking her face there lay a deeper frown. A tired frown._

"_You look just as exhausted," Audrey whispered, closing the distance between them so that Mark wouldn't have to adjust in his seat and possibly wake Paige. "Are you all right? You've been doing a lot lately."_

_Mark shrugged, careful of the baby. "It's really no big deal Drey. I should be pulling my fair share of the weight too. Besides, she's half of me as well as half of you."_

"_You know that's not what I meant." Audrey grinned, kissing Mark on the forehead before settling herself down in the seat across from him. _

"_I know," Mark whispered back slyly. "I've just gotten so used to waking up at odd hours of the night and now I've finally found something to make up for that. Besides, doesn't it help our ears?" He smiled as her soft laughter floated through his ears. "See? I have it under control. Why don't you go back to bed…?"_

_Audrey sighed and confessed, "I can't sleep."_

"_Anything wrong?"_

"_Just thinking…" She trailed off as she reached over to brush the tiny brown hairs on Paige's head. "She'll be a beautiful young lady when she grows up. So much of her is going to be from you-"_

"_Nah." Mark smiled, talking so softly that Audrey had to lean in close to hear. "Paige is all you. Do you see her? Everything screams you, Drey."_

"_She may be me on the outside, but, inside, all I can see is you. She has your eyes." She looked to him with her own large brown eyes and donned a smile so radiant that it made Mark hang on her every word. "All that love you've got, little Paige has it too. I can tell."_

_Mark's smile grew. "Drey, I love you. And Paige. More than I'll ever be able to say."_

"_Me too." Audrey smiled softly down at their baby. "And we'll have to figure out how to raise her now, just like all the other good parents have raised their children. Teaching each other along the way, working to pick up the little things…"_

_Mark sighed. "And sometimes we'll yell, or we'll cry…"_

"_You know what's funny? Sometimes I think about our family in the middle of the night and I'm afraid. I'm afraid we're going to completely screw up Paige's future. I'm afraid we might mess up as parents." Audrey shook her head. "And you know what I'm mostly afraid of? I'm afraid that messing up will leave me to face the world alone…"_

"_Hey now." Mark shook his head. He carried Paige out of the rocking chair and gently laid her down into the crib, kissing her forehead before tucking the tiny blankets around her calm body. Mark looked back towards the wooden chair his wife sat in to see her crying, face in her hands, trying to stifle her sobs._

"_I'm a mess-"_

"_No… no." Mark continued to shake his head. He knelt down and took both of her hands into his own, revealing puffy red eyes. "You'll never be alone again, not as long as I'm here. Remember? I am here to stay with you-"_

"_-through all the years…" Audrey finished, sobs subsiding slowly. "What would I do without you?"_

"_Be incredibly bored." Mark smiled as Audrey stifled a laugh. "Don't waste your time on useless questions like that. I'm here now, aren't I? Even if anything happens, I will always be with you."_

"_Promise me," She said. "Promise me that you'll be with me forever."_

_Touching his forehead to hers, Mark took their intertwined hands and placed them over her heart. The feel of it beating brought a smile to his face. "Always and forever."_

"_Good." She smiled, taking their hands and putting it over Mark's own heart._ "_I love you, Mark Cohen."_

"_I love you, my Audrey." Mark sighed with contentment and brushed her lips with his own._

**December 1998, 11:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

Little Paige Cohen moved her head back and forth, a large smile plastering her face as she opened her large blue eyes, wide with a deep curiosity. Her bright eyes seemed to grow larger as she took in the large motel room; her lips trembled slightly as she scanned the area for her stuffed penguin, Pistachio. She let out a tiny squeal as her tiny arms pumped out and threw the covers away from her to uncover the ratty penguin. Paige smiled brightly and hugged Pistachio to her chest.

Whispering for her daddy, little Paige found her lips still trembling and gulped down the air before coughing disgustedly. New York City was a very scary city. Still holding Pistachio close to her, Paige carefully climbed to her hands and knees before crawling to the side of the red comforter and peeking towards the bed next to her. She squint her eyes and let out an excited yelp as she found the large lump that had to be her father.

"Daddy's sleeping," she told Pistachio, taking her time to let one leg at a time off the bed and onto the carpeted floor. "We really shouldn't wake him up, should we? Later Daddy'll take us to the park and we can play in the snow! If Daddy's tired than he won't be able to take us…"

Pistachio stared, beady black eyes blank. Paige grinned.

She grabbed the blanket from her own bed before carefully slinking it across her daddy and herself, snuggling up close to his chest. Paige had always loved her daddy's smell of old spice just like Daddy had always said he liked her smell of vanilla. Her daddy said that Paige reminded him of Mommy.

As Paige snuggled deeper into Mark's chest she hardly noticed the smile plastering Mark's weary face as he placed his chin on her head and sighed deeply. He loved the feel of her heartbeat. He brought his arms around her petite body and widened his grin as Paige enveloped into a fit of giggles.

"Daddy!" Paige giggled, looking up into Mark's blue eyes. "You're supposed to be sleeping!"

"Well, I'm not sleepy anymore, sweetie," Mark said, smiling as he hauled himself up and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Paige's arms wrapped around his waist. "What are you doing up?"

11:00 AM. Not too late, but, after getting in at 3 AM, it was still only eight hours of sleep. Not much, for Paige.

"I can't sleep once I'm up." Paige smiled. "You're up now! Can I go play in the snow?"

_No wonder you never give kids sugar,_ Mark thought with a laugh.

"Daddy! Come on, you promised me!"

"I did, but first you have to get dressed." Mark touched her nose. "Can you do that for me while I take a quick shower?" She nodded obediently, immediately hopping off the bed and searching through the large duffel bag. "Those dark blue jeans I bought you should be in there, and the white sweater."

"These?" Paige questioned innocently, holding the desired clothes in her fists.

"Yup. That's it." He climbed out of the covers and patted her head. "Just put your dirty clothes in this bag." he pulled out the garbage bag he had brought for the dirty laundry. "Okay?"

"Yes Daddy," she said with smile still there. "Can I watch the TV when I'm done?"

"Of course." Mark leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Don't turn the volume up too loud. People are still sleeping."

"Kay!" Paige smiled.

Soon Mark finished his shower and dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black long-sleeved sweater with his navy blue and white scarf to match. He never could get rid of the thing; it just held too many memories. Mark tied Paige's shoes and made her put on her jacket before taking her hand and leading her outside.

It was still snowing that morning, just as Mark had promised, and the bright city was covered in a sheet of dazzling white as bundled-up people walked the streets. This one time of year made New York City feel so cheerful and carefree. The white snowflakes falling onto various cars, moving slowly because of the slick ice on the roads; the yellow cabs; the executives in long black coats; and the various children running around in their colorful puff jackets –they were all so familiar to him.

Mark nodded to the door attendant before walking down the steps of the hotel's entrance and moving to stand somewhere out of the way of the various people. "What do you think Paige?"

"It's pretty!" Paige grinned, clutching Mark's hand in her tiny fist. "We're gonna _live_ here?"

Mark smiled, noticing her excitement. "Well… unless you don't want to-"

"I wanna!" Paige said excitedly, looking up to Mark with large eyes.

Mark smiled.

They ate lunch in a local café, where Paige had chicken tenders and Mark ordered a simple cup of tea. Then he showed Paige around the area, feeling as if he'd never left the city. Paige hung on his every word with wide eyes and let out fascinated gasps at the little tidbits of history Mark supplied.

_Being back in New York City…_ Mark sighed at the thought. He watched from his seat in Tompkins Square Park, camera in front of his eyes, to where Paige lay on the ground making a snow angel. _After being gone for so long, I can hardly believe that I'm here, especially now at Christmastime._

He had no real, concrete reason for returning to New York. At least, not really. After Audrey had died, he had no family left to turn to except for his little Paige.

_It's too simple_, Mark thought to himself, smiling as Paige squealed at the sight of her snow angel. _After being alone, with just Paige, I just realized that I miss everybody too much._

There had been those times when Mark had thought about coming back to New York for a summer, but whenever the subject came up something happened. Getting married, Paige's birth, his mother dying, his wife getting killed…

Maybe, after all that pain, he should've come back sooner. There was no telling if he would even run into anybody he knew.

There was no telling who _survived_.

"Daddy!" Paige was tugging playfully at his arms. "Daddy! Play with me!"

He looked to his watch: 3 PM. Damn, time sure did fly.

"You've been playing for two hours." Mark smiled softly, easily noting the pout forming on her lips. "We'll come out tomorrow, but right now we need to be looking for some places to live."

She opened her mouth to protest but soon nodded sadly. "All right, Daddy."

"Thank you," he said, grabbing hold of his daughter carefully to put her under an attack of dreaded tickles. "I promise we'll come back the same time tomorrow!"

Paige let out a burst of laughter, soft and sweet liker her mother's had been. "Daddy! Daddy… _stop_! That tickles!"

"That's the point sweetie." Mark laughed, pushing himself off the bench and carefully setting Paige down onto the ground. They walked towards the exit of the park hand-in-hand. "You know what tomorrow is, right?" He held his camera out and pointed it towards her, smiling as she waved excitedly into the lens.

"Christmas!" Paige yelled happily, jumping up and down on the balls of her feet. " Then my birthday!"

"That's right," Mark said, ruffling her hair lovingly. "What do you think Santa will get you?"

"Santa will find me?" Paige questioned. "He won't go to our old house instead?"

"Of course not! Santa knows where you are when you move. No need to worry about that."

"I want…" Paige scratched her cheek thoughtfully before nodding happily and stating, "I want a gui… guitar! You said your friend played a guitar, Daddy, didn't you? Woger played one!"

"_R_oger," Mark corrected. "You know I said no lessons until you're at least eight years old." Paige pouted. "Don't give me that look, Paige; we'll see what happens tomorrow."

"Sorry." Paige frowned, kicking the sidewalk childishly.

Mark had been surprised the first time Paige asked for a guitar, but she'd wanted one for as long as he could remember. One Christmas he'd given her a baby guitar–one of the ones that lit up but didn't actually have strings–and proceeded to tell her about Roger Davis. Ever since then she had been set on learning to play the desired instrument.

Imagine that. The daughter of a photographer and a filmmaker ending up playing the guitar. Becoming a musician.

"Ahhhh!" A feminine screech hit their ears. "Oh, fuck!"

Paige furrowed her eyebrows. "Daddy? What's _fu_-?"

Mark _jumped_, nearly dropping his camera in the process, as he covered her mouth with his hand. "A _very_ bad word Paige. Don't say it. Ever."

"All right Daddy." Paige shrugged.

"Good."

Paige turned towards the odd noise and found a bundle of brown sprawled out on the snow a little ways away. The mysterious woman had apparently been shopping because the brown paper bag had flown out of her hands and had sprayed out various food products and orange pill bottles.

"Come on Daddy! We should help!" Before Mark could even warn Paige about the strangers in New York City, Paige had torn her hand from Mark's grip and was rushing towards the fallen stranger in the snow. She skidded to a stop in front of the women and fell to her knees happily. "Hi!"

"PAIGE!" Mark yelled, running towards his daughter. "Paige! Don't you ever-"

"Hello there." A suddenly _familiar _voice said softly. "Aren't you beautiful? Where are your parents, sweetie?"

Mark froze.

"Right there!" Paige turned and pointed right at Mark. "Hi Daddy!"

"Well, hello there I'm Mi-Mark?" Brown eyes widened suddenly as the woman climbed to her feet, the groceries lying forgotten on the ground. "Mark Cohen? Is that you?"

_Shit. Definitely not how this is supposed to happen,_ Mark thought, staring at the woman. He cleaned his glasses on his black coat to make sure it was actually who he thought it was. There was no denying it. Bouncy brown curls now down to her backside, wide chocolate brown eyes, and the carefree smile. She wore a pair of light blue jeans and a tight black top covered with a dark blue jean jacket.

Mark adjusted the camera in his hands and smiled politely. "Mimi… it's been a _long_ time…"

He breathed a sigh of relief as Mimi smiled warmly and hugged him. "Too long."

"Daddy?" Paige was suddenly hiding behind Mark's legs, clinging to him as if suddenly frightened of this stranger. "Daddy? Who's she?"

Mimi blanched as the realization hit her. "_Daddy?_"

With strength, he didn't think he even possessed, Mark let out a deep sigh and patted Paige's brown hair protectively. "Come on out of there and say "hi"." He looked to Mimi, a warm smile plastering his face. "Mimi, this is my daughter."

"_Daughter_…?" Mimi questioned as her eyes widened.

Paige had very slowly come out from behind Mark's legs and was staring up at Mimi with large blue eyes. She wrung her hands behind her back and smiled shyly. "Hi, I'm Paige. What's your name?"

"What a pretty name." Mimi knelt down to face Paige eye-to-eye and smiled widely. "I'm Maria Marquez-Davis, but you can call me Mimi."

"_You're_ Mimi!" Paige exclaimed excitedly. "My daddy told me about you! He said you're the prettiest dancer ever."

"Your daddy's too kind for his own good." Mimi smiled at Mark's blush.

"So…" Mark scratched the back of his head and adjusted the camera in his arms. "How have you been, Meems?" Mimi opened her mouth to answer-

"MIMI!" A snow-covered man with dirty brown hair skidded around the corner and ran towards the threesome in the street. His green eyes were wide as ever. "I heard you screaming. Are you okay…" he trailed off suddenly.

_Shit. Not this. Not now._

Roger.


	2. Slow Encounter

**Ch2: Slow Encounter**

Two years had passed since the death of his wife and Mark had since then imagined many times coming back to New York City to face all of his friends again. He wasn't sure what they would say or how well it would go- hell, he wasn't even sure if they would still be living. Horrid thought, Mark knew that, but it was reality. Still, for those two years, Mark went over in his head what would happen if he did meet up with them again, and, somehow, after all the conversations he had in his head, Mark had never predicted that all he would be able to do was stand and stare.

_Gulp._ Breath hitched in his throat, Mark barely remembered that he needed to breathe. He held on to his camera like a safety net as his glasses fell halfway down his nose. A shaky hand brushed them up carefully; sweat seemed to drown his forehead. No longer did the December air freeze Mark down to his very core. Now, it felt like a sauna. Mind-numbing emotions rolled through his brain.

_They're still your friends. There are memories there that nobody can even try to replace._ That voice again, so familiar. Mark didn't want to hear it not even now. Especially now.

Roger Davis looked just like he always had- dirty, shoulder-length brown hair, just like Mimi always liked it, stubble showing on his chin. He looked _decent, _but definitely not sick. He still had his black leather jacket; it fit his masculine body well. The same green eyes looked into Mark's own blue pupils with a sort of blank expression in them. It was all so surreal, so confusing.

Suddenly, a tugging on his jacket brought Mark away from his thoughts and he looked down towards the crown of brown his hand was currently laying on. Little Paige was looking up at him with wide, curious eyes that seemed to speak for themselves even before the small whisper came from her innocent mouth.

"Daddy?" she whispered, not too shyly. "Who's that man? Is he your friend too?"

Mark chewed his lip gingerly; he looked back up to Roger and found that the man was openly gaping at the little girl. He looked as though he thought that Paige was a three-headed monster.

"Daddy?" Roger spat, voice rough and tender. He ran a hand through his hair and looked towards Mark. "_Daddy?_"

More tugging, this time incessant. Mark sighed and bent down to face her eye-to-eye.

"Daddy," she pointed plainly towards Roger and frowned openly, "he's a weird man." A small tug of a smile pulled at Mark's lips. His heart couldn't help but melt at the little girl's innocence.

"Paige, this is Roger. Roger, this is Paige."

"Shit, Mark, is that really you?" Roger whispered.

"Sh-?"

Mark jumped. "No!" His hands covered Paige's mouth and he smiled down at her confused eyes. "Another bad word," he said. "Don't say it again, okay sweetie?"

"Okay Daddy."

"Okay." Mark nodded. He squeezed her shoulder lovingly before standing with more confidence than he really possessed. He looked towards Roger and nodded. "Roger." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched closely as Paige pressed her nose against the Macy's store window nearby.

"You back?" Roger questioned. Mimi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off. She looked to Mark with a displeased smile on her face before bending down to gather the groceries off the floor.

"Yeah." Mark nodded, his grip squeezing on his safety net of a camera. When he looked down, he was surprised to see his knuckles turning white. Taking a deep breath, Mark relaxed himself and answered more confidently, "Yeah, I am."

"You never called." Roger pursed his lips.

There really wasn't anything Mark could say to that. He couldn't lie to Roger about calling. So many times in the middle of the night Mark had picked up his cordless phone and just listened to the buzzing of the tone, not even dialing the numbers. It was just a fact; Mark did not think he could handle calling home. It was just too hard.

"Not one single phone message when you know that we screen everything. You sent one letter, the year you left, to tell us that you were all right. There was no return address so we couldn't even contact you," Roger continued. "We didn't even get to tell you that Collins died…"

And, in that instant, something in Mark died too. He knew he should've expected something like that. He should've known that somebody was going to die while he was gone. Hell, it was amazing that Roger and Mimi were still living, to tell the truth. Still, they were talking about Collins. Thomas Collins. It hurt… it was _unbelievable_.

"I'm sorry." Those two words felt like the only thing to say.

"Don't apologize," Roger said, his expression remaining blank. "Apologizes won't bring him back."

"Still, I am…"

"It's okay." Mimi sighed. She had gathered up everything off the ground and was holding the brown bag close to her chest as if somebody was about to rip it away from her. The bag was playing as her safety net. "It wasn't painful for him; he went to sleep one night and never woke up. It's okay. He's with Angel now." Her tone made it feel like she was more reassuring herself than Mark.

Roger was still staring; it made Mark fidgety. "What about Joanne and Maureen?"

"They went back through their commitment ceremony a few years ago," Mimi answered for the silent Roger. "They're probably at their apartment now but they are still living in the city. Maureen is getting by with some acting gigs she picked up and Joanne made partner about three years ago."

"Ah…" Mark said intelligently. What else was there to say? "What about the two of you? Are you all right?"

Mimi shifted on her feet. "Roger just got over pneumonia a few months ago, but that's about it. We're fine, really."

"Good." _Jeez, this is awkward. _"Erm…"

"It's been quite a few years Mark-"

"Almost seven," Mark supplied. _Bad move._

Roger's face scrunched and suddenly fire was burning underneath the once-calm green eyes. "Seven _damned_ years."

"Can you at least watch your mouth in front of my daughter?" Mark sighed. He hadn't realized what he said until it left his mouth; Mark hadn't realized that he was speaking to Roger, a man who knew _nothing_ about his past years, about his almost five-year-old daughter. It came out so carelessly, as if Mark was discussing what he had for lunch. "I…"

"A _daughter_?" Roger questioned blankly, eyes wide and anger diminishing slightly. "Which makes _you_ a _father_?"

"That would be the title." Mark laughed uneasily.

"God…" Roger ran a hand through his hair. "_You_ have a _daughter_?"

"Yeah." A sense of fatherly pride welled up inside Mark's heart. "Yeah, I do."

"Where is she?"

_Wait… What?_

Mark whipped his head around and looked towards the window of the Macy's store where Paige had been and found it vacant of the little brown haired girl. He barely noticed the fear in Mimi's eyes or the realization in Roger's as he threw himself into the store and ran across the white tile, bumping into various last-minute Christmas shoppers as he ran his eyes over the area. He draped the camera strap over his shoulder and pushed through, ignoring the profanities people threw his way.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

_She was right there! She was right there!_ Mark could barely feel his legs moving, they were going on automatic now and the tears were beginning to edge out of his eyes. Glasses askew, he called out her name, suddenly uncaring that people were staring at him as ran past. All he could think of was his Paige, his little girl.

"Paige!" Mark yelled. His hands cupped over his mouth for a louder sound, he shouted again, "Paige!"

"There!" Mimi was yelling.

Mark's head swiveled like a demon's. His blue eyes widened at the sight of his daughter hanging on to one of the store's shelves, just eight aisles in front of him, as her tiny hand reached blindly towards an object. She didn't seem to notice that the unsteady shelf was creaking- that is, she didn't seem to notice until it began to rock back and forth. Then Mark did something he hadn't thought he would ever do if he saw his little angel in trouble- he froze.

How could he lose somebody else he loved?

"_We are deeply sorry Mister Cohen." The doctor's face was laced with complete fatigue. "She died upon impact; there was no pain."_

A sudden, mind-numbing shock charged through Mark's entire body as he watched the shelf teeter. Closer and closer to dropping. Paige was holding on for dear life and Mark could see the tears gathering in the corners of her tiny blue eyes.

There was a blur. A blur so sudden and frightful that Mark recoiled as the wind brushed past his body.

_CRASH!_

Thousands upon thousands of stuffed animals and dust particles flew into the air as the shelf toppled. Mark was vaguely aware of Mimi's petite hand wrapping around his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the man. He couldn't look though, there was no reason, and Mark hung his head and screwed his eyes shut. Customers were whispering nearby, he knew they were. What gossip it would make of a death in a local department store. What gossip…

Damn death.

"Wahhh! Where's Daddy! I want Daddy!"

"Here…"

"Daddy!" Mark stumbled back, mindful of the camera still hanging on his shoulder, as two tiny arms wrapped their way around his neck. A _very_ wet face buried in the crook of his neck. "_Daddy!_"

"Oh, Paige…" Mark mumbled, his face buried in her hair. "What were you thinking?"

Paige looked down. "I wanted that stuffed animal…"

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!" He held her back and carefully wiped the tears that were gathering in her eyes. "Are you okay? Any scratches or bruises?"

"Nuh-uh!" Paige declared, still sniffling slightly. "That man helped me! Your friend!"

Looking up, Mark frowned at the sight before him. A slightly disheveled Roger Davis was standing next to Mimi trying to ruffle the dust out of his brown hair. He stopped suddenly, seeming to feel Mark's eyes on his back. He turned to look at them and nodded. Mark gave him a grateful smile before carefully rearranging his daughter in his arms and walking towards them.

Mimi was positively beaming as they walked up.

"Thank you," Mark said. "Thank you _so_ much."

Roger shrugged carelessly, as if he had just washed the dishes. "Whatever, it was no problem."

"No." Mark shook his head. "Seriously, Roger. Thanks."

There was a certain gleam in Roger's eyes as Mark looked up into them. It was as if he were looking seven years into the past. When Mark was still in New York City. When he and Roger were brothers in all but blood. "You're welcome."

"Thank you," Paige mumbled shyly.

Roger turned towards her, eyes bright in a way that Mark had never seen them. He bent closer to Paige and grinned his toothy, carefree grin. "You, my lady, are most certainly welcome."

Paige giggled; her face went back into the crook of Mark's neck.

"Excuse me." A man, probably in his mid-thirties or so, tapped Mark on the shoulder. "There's the matter of damage to the shelf your daughter climbed on."

"Right." Mark ruffled through his pocket. "Here, this should be enough."

"Yes, well." The man walked off with a frown plastering his face, a wad of bills stuffed into his pocket. "Please leave."

As they made their way out of the Macy's hope was blossoming in Mark's heart. Until… he looked up.

The look was back. That blank look that Roger had shot Mark when he'd seen him before.

Roger frowned deeply and took the bag of groceries from Mimi's hands. "We should get going." He turned on his heel and was away before Mimi could get a word in edgewise. Mark's mouth was opening in a desperate attempt to stop the fleeing musician, but it was too late. Roger had vanished.

"Rog…" Mimi whispered to his back. She turned to look towards Mark. "I… Oh, jeez-"

"Meems," the nickname seemed fragile on his tongue, "it's okay. I knew this was probably going to take time. I did, really. Right now this isn't about him liking me; it's about getting used to the fact that I'm going to be living in the city again, well, as soon as I find somewhere to live. Still, I deserve this. I should've been here; I shouldn't have left you two to deal with all this shit."

"Mark, I know he might be mad right now, but he'll come around-"

"_Mimi,_" Mark said, more sternly than before. "I was gone for seven years. Tell me you forgive me for everything and I'll hear you out, but, if not, don't try to cover up for him. There's nothing to be angry or frustrated about. It takes time."

Mimi frowned. "I can't say I'm not still angry with you for leaving."

"See?"

"But," Mimi continued, "I also can't say that I don't understand."

Mark shook his head. "There are more reasons than you might think. Too many to explain right now."

"All in due time?" Mimi guessed. Mark nodded. "Good. I'll be waiting whenever you want to talk."

"Thanks." Mark patted the now-sleeping Paige's back and smiled.

"So…" Mimi sighed, deflating slightly as the tenseness left her body and she followed Mark down the New York streets.

Mark cocked a brow. "Shouldn't you be following Roger home?"

Mimi giggled. "He's a big boy."

"Uh-huh…"

"Besides, you and I need to talk and I've still got a few minutes until I have to head to work."

"Where?"

"Local restaurant, I'm a waitress."

"Missing the Cat Scratch Club?" Mark joked with a laugh.

"Right." She laughed and tossed her curly hair back before positively beaming. "When do I meet Mrs. Cohen?"

"_There wasn't anything you could've done. Nothing. It doesn't matter what she was doing, where she was going, or even why she was going where she was going. Seriously, Mark, don't blame yourself." Another voice, comforting. "That's how we become less human, man. Don't make that mistake."_

"Never." Mark sighed. "She died."

"Oh, shit. Mark, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Mark said, involuntarily tightening his hold on Paige. "You didn't know. I'd rather not talk about it."

Frowning, Mimi nodded her head. "How old is this little one?"

"She'll be five on December 26th."

Mimi hung her head. "Everything happens around Christmas."

"Miracles happen on Christmas." Mark sighed. "That's all everything was."

"I guess…"

Mark stopped; his hand reached up and squeezed Mimi's shoulders. "I know."

"Yeah." Mimi nodded gratefully, thankful for the comfort of his words. "So, you said you didn't have a place to live?"

Mark's eyes widened. "Don't you even _think_ it."

"No!" Paige mumbled something incoherently and Mimi's hands flew to her mouth. Her brown eyes widened before she looked back to Mark and frowned lightly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"Anyway," Mimi said in a softer voice. "I wasn't talking about living with Roger and me in the loft. You can live in the one below ours, my old one."

"You still live in that building?"

"Too many memories. I wouldn't dream of moving somewhere else unless we absolutely had to."

Mark chewed his lip gingerly. "I wouldn't want to impose…"

"Relax, it's not living _with_ us and it's not living _away_ from us." Mimi sighed. "Maybe if you spend a bit more time with Roger you'll be able to get past this stupid argument and become better friends again."

"It may take a while."

"Is that a yes?" Mimi questioned, eyes brightening.

"I'll think about it, okay?"

Lips pouted, Mimi frowned. "All right. Listen, I've got to head to work right now, but tomorrow's Christmas and… well, can we see you for Christmas dinner at the Life Café for old time's sake? Maureen and Joanne will be there; it'll be a nice surprise for them. Then we can really catch up!"

Mark frowned. "I can't just leave Paige by herself."

"Bring her! The more the merrier! We'll celebrate an early birthday."

"You know Roger's going to be pissed at you."

Mimi winked. "I'll win him over."

"Thank you, Mimi." Mark smiled warmly. "It'll be nice to see everybody again."

She smiled and pulled him into a warm hug, mindful of his daughter and camera. "It's nice to see you. So many times I thought it was you coming through that loft door with a camera in your hand and that stupid, ratty scarf around your neck…" Mimi broke the embrace and looked him over from head-to-toe. "Now, I see a camera, a scarf, and… a daughter."

"I guess a lot of things changed." Mark frowned.

"Yeah," Mimi nodded, "but we still missed you. Roger especially."

"I know."

**December 24, 1998, 10:30 PM, Eastern Standard Time**

"I cannot believe you did that to him!" Mimi yelled. "He comes back after _seven years_ and you treat him like an absolute stranger! Do you have no sympathy in you? There were reasons for his absence, just like there were reasons for your going to Santa Fe!"

Roger recoiled from her harsh words. No matter how many years it had been since that fateful trip to Santa Fe it was still a touchy subject no matter who brought it up. Getting away from New York had been both the worst and best mistake of Roger's entire life. Why Mimi was even bringing it up was lost on Roger's mind as he continued absentmindedly strumming the beginning of his rock-rendition of Musetta's Waltz.

"Are you even listening to me?" Mimi threw a pillow at him and huffed annoyingly as he caught it in one hand. "He's your _best friend_, Roger-"

"No," Roger stopped his strumming and wagged a finger annoyingly. "He is my _ex_-best friend. There is a big difference."

She plopped down across from him on the windowsill. "He was like a brother to you," she argued.

"_Was_."

"Love," Mimi frowned, "he's still a part of us."

"No he isn't." Roger shook his head ruthlessly. "The moment he walked out the door he became a stranger."

"Roger, you left too."

"For barely a month!" Roger yelled. He angrily pushed himself off the bench and set his guitar down in its stand. "There's a difference between the way I left and the way _he_ left."

Mimi sighed and pushed herself tiredly off the bench to follow. A hand squeezed Roger's shoulder. "Is there really? Or are you mad at him for leaving you here in New York for seven years?"

"Seven years. Seven _damned_ years," Roger mumbled. "For all we knew, he could've died."

"He's back, love. Do you want to ruin that after all this time?" Mimi questioned. "We had some rough times here in New York, but, wherever he went, he did too. He lost his wife, did you know that?"

"What?"

"His wife died," Mimi confirmed. "There's no pain like losing a spouse. Come on, Roger, give it a chance. He has a daughter."

"Yeah, well." Roger turned and looked her in the eye, "so did we."

Mimi looked down; she could feel the tears building in her eyes. "A miscarriage, two years ago. Maybe it's for the best; we don't want to spread the disease."

"There was a chance the baby wouldn't have had-"

"Roger…" Voice cracking, Mimi looked up with glazed brown eyes. "Please, not now."

Roger frowned. He used a finger to wipe away a stray tear. "I'm sorry."

Mimi nodded absentmindedly and walked towards their bedroom door. She stopped at the door, head turning slightly and brown curls bouncing down her back, and said, "He's coming to dinner at the Life Café tomorrow-"

"Meems…"

"Roger, please." A sigh. "He told me there are more reasons that he left than we think."

"Still..." Roger said, trailing off.

"Give him a chance. That's all I'm asking."


	3. O Aching Night

**Ch3: O Aching Night**

**December 25, 1998**

The snow poured down harder that Christmas night than it had since Mark could remember. Or rather, Mark had experienced such a snowstorm just once before, seven years ago; it had been a blizzard, a whiteout complete with loss of power and plumbing. He remembered that night on the stoop when he had received a brotherly hug from Collins, tear-jerking kisses from Joanne and Mimi, an overdramatic crying hug from Maureen, and a businesslike handshake from Benny. Then there was Roger, watching from the fire escape above as the yellow cab pulled away. He remembered Roger's teary-eyed face. Hell, he remembered his own tears streaking down his face as he watched his friends' forms get smaller and smaller before his very eyes…

The snow continued to fall.

Why'd everything have to happen around the December snow and the December holiday? He remembered Mimi's near-death on that Christmas night, the same night that Roger first performed _Your Eyes_ for her. It was odd, just six days later Mark had left for LA, and the last time he had seen Mimi she was going through withdrawal and her T-cell count was low. Amazing how seven years changed things. Mimi was beaming with joy now; he could hardly tell she even had HIV. Same for Roger. They were doing good… so why did Mark come in and ruin that joy with his presence?

Pushing away from the frigid window, Mark turned on his heel and carefully observed his surroundings. The gritty white plaster was peeling off the wall, various broken lights flickered overhead, and the gray concrete below his feet seemed to produce holes in the floor with his every step. Moving forward, Mark flopped down onto the aged black barstool and leaned forward so that his head was in his hands. It was a photo gallery, or, at least, it was _supposed_ to be a photo gallery. Sitting up, he scribbled something down on the clipboard in front of him before pushing it away exhaustedly.

_Hard to believe I'm making a gallery out of a bar,_ Mark thought to himself inwardly as he leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the bar top to the familiar tune that had been playing in his head all day. It was so odd that he was thinking of that tune again, and Mark didn't know why he was. Every single Christmas since Mark had left New York City, he'd found himself playing that tune all day long, just humming it to himself. Audrey had always wondered what it was.

Audrey had wondered…

Audrey.

Blinking back tears, Mark leaned forward so that his head was resting in his hands, and carefully massaged his temples. He remembered Audrey: her every step, her carefree laugh, her playful slaps when she was joking, her shimmering brown eyes, and, most importantly, the way she talked in a whisper to tell Mark she was really paying attention and listened…

Shit, he missed her.

The slamming of the door made Mark's head snap up. He heard a chuckle and soon a smile rose on his face as he watched the petite form of Terry Ram enter. "Happy Hanukah, Mark!"

"No." Mark shook his head. "Merry Christmas."

Terry Ram held a special place in Mark's heart, for she was one of his best friends as well as his sister-in-law. They'd known each other at Brown, but over the years, when Mark dropped out and headed for New York City and the bohemian life, they had lost touch. He'd seen her visiting a photography gallery right after he'd moved to LA; they had reminisced and it turned out Terry was Audrey's older sister. Mark had met his wife through Terry.

"Still boycotting all the Jewish holidays?" Terry laughed as she shed off her jacket and joined Mark at the makeshift bar. She looked beautiful that Christmas night, wearing an ankle-length black skirt with a red turtleneck, sleeveless sweater and thin, black boots.

"Not boycotting," Mark said with a chuckle. "I'd say… _avoiding_."

Eyes squinting in confusion, she asked, "Isn't that the same thing?"

"Whatever. It's not really my fault I hate the Jewish holidays. I mean, after my parents basically shoved dreidels down my throat it was kind of predictable I'd grow up in a Christmas setting." He ducked behind the makeshift bar and swiftly grabbed two glasses from below.

Terry blinked. "I thought you didn't drink alcohol anymore."

"I don't. Not anymore, at least," Mark whispered. He looked up through his black-rimmed glasses and was less then surprised to see a glum look plastered upon Terry's face. Leaning forward, Mark took Terry's hand and gently massaged her knuckles. "Hey, don't dwell on it. It's Christmas, Audrey's favorite holiday, and she wouldn't want to see you so down."

"Right, thanks." Terry cleared her throat, a smile emerging on her face. "So? Please, tell me you've got coffee."

Mark kneeled down and rummaged through the cupboards. "You know me. I'm more of a tea person. Anyway, I haven't got anything like that. So, it's either this," he pushed himself off his knees and showed her a bottle of Pepsi, "or grape juice."

Terry laughed and banged her fist against the bar top. "I'll take a Pepsi on the rocks, good man!"

Mark chuckled. He turned around and carefully plucked out a fair amount of ice cubes from the silver bucket before turning back and pouring in the Pepsi. They clinked glasses and gulped away at their soda, chatting easily. It had been a year since they had last seen each other and there were many things to catch up on.

"Where's Paige?" Terry questioned, gulping down her third glass. "I haven't seen her rushing down to greet her favorite aunt."

"Cindy would be so pleased." Mark rolled his eyes. "She's upstairs with her new acoustic guitar. Hasn't come down for since I ordered in some pizza for lunch."

"New… _what?_" Terry's eyes brightened, and Mark began to feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Oh my gosh, Mark, I knew you'd cave! Let me guess…" She paused for a moment, fingers drumming on her chin. "She hit you with the puppy dog eyes!"

Mark tilted his head towards her and frowned, shifting uneasily on the barstool across from her. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, please, we all did it when we were younger." She pointed a finger and winked happily. "How do you think I got my first boyfriend to pl-"

Mark put his hands up in defense. "I beg you not to finish that sentence!"

The bubbly laugh eliciting from Terry brought a large smile to Mark's face. It was nice to be near some family after being alone in Los Angeles last year. Still, it still seemed odd being back in New York City after Mark had told himself seven years ago that he'd never be back again. _Things change…_

"Yo, Mark!"

Mark hadn't realized that he had closed his eyes until he opened them and was met with Terry's palm moving back and forth in front of his face. He recoiled sharply and would have fallen from his stool had it not been for Terry's quick reflexes. Mark straightened in his chair and promptly pulled his arm out of her protective grip. "Sorry 'bout that, guess I'm a little out of it today."

"I'll say," Terry said concernedly. "You okay? You've been spacing out."

"It's nothing." Mark sighed, leaning forward so that his head was in his hands and rubbing his temples again. "Stress…"

Terry frowned. "I'll give you stress. What's this?" She held up the clipboard accusingly and tsk'ed annoyingly. "Mark Cohen, are you working on Christmas?"

Banging his head against the bar top, Mark looked up and placed his chin on folded arms. "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately and I needed to throw myself into some work." He sighed. "After last night…"

Eyes widening, Terry questioned, "You saw them, didn't you? Your old friends: Davis, Marquez, Johnson, Jefferson, and Collins-"

Mark cringed at the name. "Collins…Terry, he _died_."

She nearly spit out her Pepsi. "Excuse me?"

"Collins died while I was in LA," Mark replied. "They didn't tell me when it happened, but they said that he died peacefully. While he was sleeping, or something…I'm not really sure…I mean, we didn't really get into it. I mean, it was so surreal. Only a few hours here and I ran into them."

"Mark…" Terry whispered; she took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "Don't beat yourself up about this."

Mark made himself plaster on a smile. "It's nothing, really."

"No, it's not. You lost a friend," Terry said. She let go of his hand and stroked his cheek lovingly. "You always told me this Collins was like a father to you, didn't you? Well, it's not a crime to mourn him."

"Yeah…" Mark cleared his throat and blinked back the tears. "Yeah, thanks."

"Good boy." She slapped his cheek playfully and the bright grin was back. "What about everybody else? Tell me about them."

And Mark told her what had happened last night when he had stood still and watched as Roger's blaring green eyes burned into his very soul. He told her about letting Paige get away from him ("Don't worry," Terry had laughed, "every parent loses their kid at least once.") and Roger saving her from the falling bookshelf. It was hard for him to talk about; Mark guessed that he had been too numb to truly feel anything right after it had happened.

"Are you thinking about moving in?" Terry questioned. "I mean, you can't stay here the whole time."

The bar was built underneath a loft with five rooms: two bedrooms, a living room/kitchen and two bathrooms–one upstairs and one downstairs in the gallery. Mark hadn't taken Mimi's advice about moving into her old loft, but he certainly didn't want to keep jumping from hotel to hotel. It just seemed easier moving into the loft above his soon-to-be photography gallery. Maybe later he'd think about Mimi's offer…maybe…

"Why not? There's enough room," Mark continued. "And it works out because I've got an office down here that's big enough for my filming work."

"Mark, I love you like a brother. I know you've got a living situation all planned out and everything but you've got to know that we have to shut this place down to fix all the wiring and plumbing." She held up the clipboard. "Based on what you've marked down, it might take months…three, maybe?"

Mark swiped the clipboard back. "You have got to be kidding me!"

Terry grinned viciously. "There's still that offer Marquez gave you. Couldn't you like it there?"

"Oh, sure," Mark rolled his eyes, "like that's not going to be uncomfortable. Didn't you hear me before? I swear, Roger looked like he was going to kill me!"

Terry continued to grin. "Well, you can't go hotel hopping."

"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"Every second of it."

"I hate you," Mark growled.

"I love you too!" Terry clapped her hands together childishly. "Come on, what about this dinner?"

"You expect me to think that they haven't changed in seven years?" Mark frowned. "Mimi told me that she's going to be surprising Joanne and Maureen with my comeback, so your guess is as good as mine. I think they'll be fine after a while. Hell, maybe Paige will win em' over."

"What about Davis?"

"Like I said before: He'll kill me!"

"Stop being so dramatic." Terry sighed. "He's your best friend-"

"Was! He _was_ my best friend." Mark sighed. "I'm telling you, Terry, I know Roger Davis, and he holds one serious grudge. Didn't I tell you about that one time when I broke _one_ string off his guitar and he didn't talk to me for _three weeks_?"

"Didn't you say that was when he was going through withdrawal? Yeah, and you also said that I shouldn't hold any of that against him because he was out of his mind."

"Did I tell you everything?"

"Everything."

Mark just sighed and shook his head. "Still-"

"Still, nothing!" Terry said. "He won't do anything but avoid you all day."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, Mark!" she said, her voice getting more powerful and reassuring with each syllable. "Do you really think this Davis character will do anything to you if you've got Paige with you?"

"I guess not…"

"Would you quit being so negative about everything!" Terry frowned. "You never know what's going to happen. I mean, you said it yourself Mark: miracles happen on Christmas. Huh? You've been saying that ever since I met you at Brown. You still believe that, don't you?"

"Of course." Mark chugged down the last of the Pepsi before quickly tossing it into the garbage bin. "But haven't you heard the saying _it gets worse before it gets better_?"

"Oh, bull-"

"Aunt Terry!" Paige gave a happy grin as she bustled down the stairs. She wore a pair of light blue jeans with a long red sweater with a picture of a snowman on the breast, a navy blue and white scarf wrapped around her neck. Beaming blue eyes sparkled as she tightened her hold on the light brown acoustic guitar in her hand and jumped up to hug her aunt.

"There she is!" Terry exclaimed happily. She promptly pulled Paige into a hug and plunked her down on the bar top. "Look at that! Is that the guitar your daddy bought you?"

"Uh-huh." Paige nodded happily. She looked over her shoulder and gave Mark the same puppy dog eyes that had won her the guitar.

"Great." Terry smiled. "Then your birthday present tomorrow will be well received!"

Paige gasped. "Birthday present?"

"Of course!" Terry responded. "Don't think your aunt would forget her favorite niece's birthday! It's not everyday somebody turns the big age of five!" She poked Paige's stomach playfully, "Now, what kind of person would I be if I forgot that?"

Mark sighed and ruffled Paige's hair. "What do you say, Paige?"

"Thank you!" Paige exclaimed brightly.

"No problem, Princess." Terry smiled. She picked up her coat and took the clipboard from Mark. "I've better get going, Mark, or I'll be late for my Christmas dinner with my boyfriend. You're going to be late too, you know?" Leaning forward, Terry kissed Mark's cheek and whispered into his ear, "Don't you worry about Davis; he'll come around." She stood from her stool and smiled down at Paige. "I'll see you tomorrow, Paige. Birthday dinner, okay?"

"You're leaving?" Paige deflated, grip on her guitar faltering. "B-but I learned somethin' that I wanna play for you…"

Mark arched a brow at Terry and shrugged at her look. Terry responded by smiling widely and looking down at Paige. "You learned something already?"

"Yeah!" Paige's smile was back. "Do ya wanna hear?"

Terry nodded. "Sure."

Mark brushed back Paige's brown hair and smiled. "Were you learning this when you were up there in your room?"

"Uh-huh." Paige beamed, fingers getting into a poised position. "Ready?"

"Go for it, sweetie." Mark smiled as Terry nodded along.

The tune was peculiar at first. It wasn't too long, just very _familiar_. Mark breathed in a deep sigh as his eyes involuntarily closed in deep concentration and his head tilted towards the sound. Fingers tapping lightly on the bar top, Mark felt the familiar music going straight to his core.

He knew that sound.

He lived that sound.

He _hated _that sound…

Mark felt like he was out for hours when in reality it was more like two minutes. He opened his eyes cautiously and found a beaming Paige looking up at him. "What'd ya think, Daddy?"

"I… erm…" Mark stuttered. He met Terry's understanding gaze with blank blue eyes. "It was great, sweetie."

"Was that…?" Terry questioned.

"Musesetta's Waltz!" Paige confirmed mispronouncing the name. . "It was a little bit of it!" She looked to Mark and her smile brightened even more. "Daddy! You told me your friend Woger played it, right?"

"_R_oger," Mark confirmed with a nod. "How'd you learn that, sweetie?"

"I heard it on your camera video," Paige replied, "and I remembered it."

"Hmmm," Terry grinned and shot a look at Mark. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Paige's forehead. "That was absolutely brilliant! You keep playing like that and you'll be a musician in no time!"

"Don't put ideas in her head!" Mark hissed.

Rolling her eyes, Terry said, "I'll get these building changes to the construction people," before turning on her heel and skipping through the door. "See yah!"

Paige looked to Mark with a questioning glance. "Daddy? What did Aunt Terry mean by becoming a musician?"

"Ah…it's nothing, sweetie." Mark took a deep breath. "Why don't you put that guitar in the case I got you and we can go to dinner. We're going to meet a few of my friends at the Life Café."

"Life _Café_?" Paige questioned, giggling as Mark picked her up off the bar and set her down on the ground. "Wha's that?"

"The place I told you about," Mark confirmed, kneeling down to face her eye-to-eye. "Now, go on." He pushed her lightly towards the staircase, saying, "You don't want to be late, do you?"

"No, Daddy!" Paige said.

Within minutes, as both showered quickly and dressed in casual clothing, Mark locked up the gallery and led Paige down the city streets.

"December 25th, 7:30 PM, Eastern Standard Time." Mark smiled as he turned his camera toward Paige as she rolled out her tongue. "Zoom in as Paige Cohen attempts to catch a snowflake and…" He trailed off, zoomed in, and- "She gets one!"

Paige giggled happily at the tickle of the cold flake. She looked up to Mark and said, "Daddy? Why do you do that?"

"Do what, sweetie?" Mark questioned.

"What you said in the beginning!" Paige exclaimed. "The date and time! You say it every time you pick up your camera!"

"Oh," Mark chuckled. "Well, sweetie, one of my friends-"

"Roger?" Paige interjected.

"Yeah, Roger. Well, he told me that I'd never remember what the dates on my documentaries and movies were because we didn't have a label maker, so I went and made that up. We got a label maker for Christmas, but it didn't matter because I'd gotten in the habit of starting my recordings like that."

"Oh…" Paige said, interested. She looked towards the camera as if it were a foreign object with three heads. "How come it has a handle? Is it old?"

"It's a Bolex H-16-" Mark stopped himself as soon as he saw Paige's blue eyes growing wide. He laughed. "Yes, sweetie, it's a very old model."

Paige nodded, her black boots kicking the snow absentmindedly. "Who gave it to you? Did Mommy?"

Heart wrenching slightly, Mark swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat and smiled down at his daughter. "Your mother gave this to me when she broke my old one-"

"She _broke_ it?" Paige exclaimed as if it were the dirtiest deed in the whole world.

Mark laughed. "Not on purpose."

"Was she sorry?"

"Very." Mark nodded. "She bought me a new camera right away, and made sure it was as close to the exact same model as she could find."

"Why the same?"

"I'd had the camera she broke for a long time. It had a lot of memories. I didn't want a different one."

"Sen-ti-men-tal," Paige said, careful to sound out each syllable, "value?"

Mark chuckled. "That's right. Sentimental value."

Paige stared up blankly at Mark and asked, "What's sentimental value?"

"It-" Mark stopped himself. "You know what? I'll tell you tomorrow night."

"Okay." Paige smiled, happy with the answer. She walked a few feet further from Mark and turned the corner before stopping mid-step and looking up towards the big, colorful sign. "Is that it, Daddy?" she questioned, finger pointed. "Is that the Life Café?"

"Sure is…" Mark trailed off in awe.

The building was just like he remembered, albeit a bit cleaner. It had stayed true to its bohemian roots with its multi-colored, chipped sign. Lists of foods and prices were plastered onto the dirty windows.

_It's just as I remember it…_

Moving closer, hand carefully latching onto Paige's wrist so she wouldn't burst through the door, Mark swung the strap of his camera over his shoulder before shading his eyes and peeking through the dark, Christmas-decorated windows. Where would his friends be seated…? _Ah! There!_

Two tables had been pushed together to fit a total of seven chairs. Currently, in two of those chairs sat Mimi and Roger. They both looked like they were having a wonderful time, apparent from the grins plastering their faces and the laughs emerging from inside the café. It was an unfamiliar sight for Mark, and the filmmaker flinched at the sound. Across from them sat a _very familiar_ woman: Joanne Jefferson. Seven years hadn't seemed to change the dark-skinned lawyer. She was smiling also.

_Where's Maureen? _Mark asked himself. _Hopefully she and Joanne aren't fighting again._

Odd how that problem hadn't crossed Mark's mind in seven years. Odd how everything seemed to have changed in seven years. Odd how it seemed as if nothing had changed in seven years.

_Stop it! You should've expected change, _Mark told himself, shaking his head.

Blue eyes darting around the room, Mark chewed his lip nervously. A light tugging at his sweater brought Mark's eyes toward his daughter. "Daddy?" she questioned. "When are we going in? I'm hungry."

"In a second, sweetie." Mark said, his eyes moving back towards the inside of the Life Café-_ Wait…where'd Mimi go?_ Head moving hastily, Mark searched the interior of the café for the Hispanic woman.

"Hey, Mark!" Nearly jumping out of his skin, Mark let out a small yelp and turned abruptly on his heel just in time to meet Mimi's dark eyes. She giggled and said, "Whatcha still standing out here for?"

"Mimi!" Paige pumped her tiny hand back and forth in a small wave. "Merry Christmas!"

"Awww, Merry Christmas." Mimi reached down and scooped Paige into her arms. They twirled around in a little dance, each girl giggling madly before Mimi stopped and held Paige out in front of her. "Don't you look cute today?" Paige beamed and Mimi placed her back down on the sidewalk.

Mark raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing out here?"

"Didn't I ask you first?" Mimi placed her hands on her hips and gave Mark a playful glare. "I looked outside and I saw you peeping in so I came out to see if something was wrong."

"Oh," Mark said uncomfortably. "Does Roger know I'm here?"

"Nah." Mimi shook her head and bounced casually on the balls of her feet. "I told everybody I wanted to get some air and managed to get Roger to leave me be for a little while- is something wrong?"

Mark paused, stroking Paige's hair absentmindedly as the little girl again attempted to catch snowflakes with her tongue. "No… or, at least, I don't think so- I guess…"

"You're worried about what they'll think? Is that it?" Mimi nodded. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Roger promised me he'd at least try to get through dinner without arguing."

"You haven't eat yet?"

"We're waiting on you. I told Maureen and Joanne we'd have a mystery guest and they don't mind waiting."

"Where's Maureen? I don't see her."

"Ladies' room." Mimi shrugged. "She spilled beer on her skirt."

"Since when does Maureen care about that?"

"Since Joanne bought it as a present for 500. So?" Mimi questioned. "Are you ready to meet your death sentence?" Mark's stomach did a drastic flip and he nodded wordlessly. "Don't worry, it'll be fine."

"Right." Mark knelt down and turned Paige towards him. "Sweetie, we're going to meet a few of my friends right now so I want you to be on your best behavior. Okay?"

"Uh-huh!" Paige nodded. "No problem, Daddy."

Mimi cocked a brow and questioned, "Since when have we had manners?" Mark shot her a glare and she skipped forwards so she could hold the door open. "Go on in…"

_Deep breath, Cohen, _Mark told himself. _I don't think I'd make a good impression if I fainted in front of everybody._

Walking into the Life Café was like walking backwards in time. The crowded tables, boisterous noises, snooty host, and jaunty waiters reminded Mark of the Christmas of 1989. Mark felt his stomach flip as he recalled the moment when he danced on the tabletop trying to teach Benny a point. After that night came the beginning of what Mark called the Steady Days. Nobody was fighting, nobody was sick, nobody was alone…

_I was alone._

"Can you believe it! After nearly an hour under that goddamned water I finally got the stain out!"

Maureen Johnson stood before Mark wearing a knee-length black leather skirt and a sleeveless black sweater. Her head was ducked down and she had thankfully kept Roger and Joanne from seeing Mimi ushering Mark and Paige into the café. Mimi smirked happily as she jerked her head towards Maureen, a _devious _grin forming on her face.

"Mimi…no!" Mark hissed, not wanting to attract the attention of his ex-girlfriend.

"It's going to happen anyway. At least this way I'll have fun." Mimi's grin widened and her head, brown curls flying, turned quickly towards Maureen. "Hey Mo! Here's our surprise guest!"

Maureen's head snapped up, her eyes widened and suddenly she was running. "POOKIE!" Mark barely had time to comprehend anything as he suddenly found himself lying on his back with a very ecstatic diva sitting on his stomach. She leaned down and kissed his face excitedly. "Mark! Mark! Mark! You came back!"

"Maureen!" Joanne was quickly at her side, hand snatching to grab the back of her girlfriend's collar. "Let the boy breathe!"

Maureen was dragged off of Mark, who carefully pulled himself up off the floor as he fixed his camera strap and made sure nothing was broken. A minute later, Joanne pulled him into a hug and whispered into his ear, "Good to see you alive."

"Same to you," Mark whispered back before they pulled away from each other. "Merry Christmas."

He opened his mouth to say something else but without warning found himself being slapped harshly in the face. Mumbling a curse, Mark quickly pushed his glasses back up his nose and pressed a hand to his sore cheek. He turned to Maureen to find her glaring harshly at him. "That," she stated, "is for leaving us for seven years!"

Mark stuttered, "Mo- Ma… Maure-"

"Shhh." Maureen pressed a finger to his lips and smiled. She pulled him into a strong, tight hug that nearly had Mark gasping for breath before she pulled away and smiled widely. "Welcome back home."

Mark simply smiled.

Roger was sitting alone at the suddenly-abandoned table. He wore an unsatisfied scowl on his face and averted his eyes as Mark turned towards him. Mark winced and looked away.

"That lady hit you!" Paige hissed from behind him, pointing at Maureen.

Joanne raised an eyebrow. "Are you here alone, little girl?"

"I'm here with Daddy." Paige's bottom lip trembled as she ducked behind Mimi's legs, trying to stay as far away from the two strange women. She pointed at Mark and frowned. "Daddy, who are they?"

Joanne's eyes widened. "Mark? Is she _yours_?"

Mark nodded. "Paige, come on out and say hi to my friends."

Mimi patted Paige's head. "Come on, Paige. They're really not that scary."

"Hi there!" Maureen knelt down and smiled widely. "I'm Maureen Elizabeth Johnson! I've known your daddy since he was thirteen years old."

Mark rolled his eyes.

"Really?" Paige questioned, blue eyes widening.

"Yup!" Maureen smiled, bobbing her head. "If you want the dirt on Daddy, you just come to your Aunt Mo!"

"_Maureen!_" Mark interjected, blushing profusely. "Enough!"

Maureen smiled. She held her hands out to Paige and smiled happily as the young girl came close enough so that Maureen could pick her up easily. "Wow, you're really light! What say I stuff you with some food?"

Mark shook his head as he watched the two move back towards the table. Maureen plunked Paige down in the seat next to her and happily ordered some food from the cheerful waiter. Mimi shot him a look that said "I told you it'd be all right" before leading him to the table so that he could sit next to his daughter.

It hadn't been a particularly smooth dinner from then on. Hell, Mark counted himself lucky that no one had gotten hurt.

Joanne, Mark learned, had been involved in a car crash nearly four years ago and had been in a coma for two weeks. She told Mark that was when she learned to really trust Maureen, because apparently Maureen had slept in the hospital the whole time holding her hand. Since almost losing her true love, Maureen had never been able to cheat, or even flirt, with other men and women…mostly…

Mimi explained, in more detail than the other day, that she now worked as a waitress at the Life Café.

"I thought you said local restaurant."

"It is." Mimi defended herself. "We all hang out here anyways, so I might as well get paid to serve people food and drinks. Besides, I get a discount."

Mark laughed. He turned involuntarily towards Roger and found the blond musician gone. _Shit…_

"He went to the restroom." Mimi nudged him in the shoulder, leaning in so they could have a private conversation. "Hey, just be happy he isn't humiliating you in front of your daughter."

"Great thing to be happy about." Mark rolled his eyes. "My ex-best friend won't even look at me."

"Hey, quit talking like you're strangers," Mimi whispered. "Roger was like a brother to you."

"_Was._"

"Sure." Mimi giggled, suddenly reminded of her last argument with Roger. "You two are completely different."

"I fail to see how this is funny."

Mimi sighed. "Just give him a chance."

"Fine."

"So." Maureen smiled as she looked towards Paige. "Where's your mommy?"

Mark froze as his breath hitched uncomfortably in his throat. A hand, probably Mimi's, was placed on his shoulder.

"With Grandma!" Paige beamed happily, twirling her fork around her spaghetti. "Daddy said she went to live with Grandma."

"Grandma, huh?" Maureen cocked an eyebrow, dabbing Paige's mouth with a napkin. "Are they all right?"

Paige nodded. "Daddy said they're both happy with the angels."

Joanne stared blankly at Mark.

Maureen still wasn't comprehending anything. "Angel?"

"No-" Paige began, but was cut off abruptly by Mark.

"Here, sweetie." Mark held out two quarters towards his daughter and gestured towards the pinball machine that was standing near the restroom doors. "Why don't you go play while I talk to my friends."

"Okay." Paige nodded, taking the quarters and hopping off the seat. "Can I get ice cream later?"

"Anything you want, sweetie." Mark smiled. He watched, satisfied, as Paige skipped off towards the machine before looking back towards Maureen and demanding, "Could you be more clueless?"

Mimi squeezed his shoulder. "Calm down Mark, she didn't know."

"Sorry." Maureen mumbled.

Mark's heart wrenched. "I didn't mean to snap."

Joanne smiled sympathetically. "How long ago did it happen?"

"It'll be two years ago tomorrow, Paige's birthday." Mark stated the facts blankly. "She was out walking and got hit by a drunk driver."

"Which explains the water?" Maureen wagged her finger towards the clear glass.

"Yeah. I guess I kinda swore off alcohol, except wine." He shivered involuntarily as he felt Mimi's hand still resting on his shoulder. "Her name was Audrey Ram-Cohen… It's not something I'd talk about…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger wiped his hands on the front of his dark blue jeans, scowling disgustedly. "Could this day get any worse?" he mumbled darkly, leaning onto the closest thing he could find- the pinball machine. The cool metal rested easily against Roger's back and the musician sighed. He watched uneasily as Joanne reached over and grabbed both of Mark's hands.

_What are they thinking? _Roger asked himself. _He's a sellout._

"Excuse me." A tugging on Roger's finger brought Roger's eyes down to the little brown-haired girl. She looked to him with bright blue eyes, a small smile on her face. "Merry Christmas. Thank you for saving me yesterday."

"Um…" Roger shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "It's no problem, kid."

"I'm Paige Audrey Cohen." Paige smiled, holding out a hand.

Raising an eyebrow, Roger shook the tiny hand. "Roger Davis, nice to meet you."

"Are you the musician my daddy always talks about?" Paige questioned innocently. "He said you two were like brothers. I didn't know Daddy had any brothers."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, kid." Roger sighed. "What are you doing over here anyway?"

"Daddy told me to play the machine because he's talking with his friends." Paige shrugged. "They were talking about Mommy, I think."

"_His wife died. There's no pain like losing a spouse…"_

"So," Roger inquired, trying to change the subject, "Your dad talks about me?"

"Uh-huh! He said you were the nicest man in the world!" _Me? Nice to Mark? _"After Daddy told me about you I've wanted to play the guitar and today I got one for Christmas." Paige beamed.

_Hmmm…the kid knows what she likes. That's something._

"You any good?" Roger questioned, interested.

"Daddy won't let me take lessons until I'm eight so I have to learn on my own." Paige shrugged.

"Oh," Roger carefully scooped Paige off the ground and set her on the pinball machine. He smiled and tickled her stomach. "How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

Paige giggled. "No silly! I'm four! Tomorrow is my birthday."

"Awww," Roger said to her. "Five years old and still as cute as a button."

"Buttons are ugly." Paige pouted. "They're round!"

Roger laughed. "How about…as cute as a kitty cat?"

"Cats are ugly too." Paige smiled, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I know!" Roger smiled widely. "Cute as Paige Cohen!"

"I am!" Paige giggled as Roger tickled her tummy. "I'm Paige Cohen."

"Yup," Roger confirmed. "That's why you're as cute as her."

"Silly! That doesn't even make sense."

"Oh, well." Roger shrugged.

"I learned your song!" Paige exclaimed suddenly. "That one you play all the time. Museseta's Walls."

"_Musetta's_ Waltz." Roger raised an eyebrow. "Really, now?"

"Well…" Paige scratched her cheek idly. "I learned the very beginning of it and that kinda took me all day because I had to teach myself from memory. Daddy got on camera you playing it."

"That's pretty good." Roger laughed. "I taught myself with a book and it took me at least two days to figure out the beginning and one week to learn and memorize the whole thing."

"There's a _book_?"

"Yeah, I think I got rid or it, but I might have the sheet music. Call it a birthday present." Roger said, ruffling Paige's hair. He picked her up and placed her carefully in front of the pinball machine. "What do say you and I try this thing out? It's pretty new so it should work okay."

"All right." Paige nodded. She put the two quarters into the tiny slot and jumped slightly as the game sprang to life with numerous beeps and music. "Wow."

"Yeah. You ready?"

"Uh-huh!"

Roger hadn't realized how much fun he would have with a four-year-old girl. Much less the little girl of his ex-best friend Mark Cohen. Roger smiled happily as he operated the left panels and told Paige to operate the right side, each pressing madly as they watched the tiny silver ball move wildly. The noises Roger made, making the game seem more serious then it actually was, made Paige giggle happily as she pressed the right side button frantically.

"Get it! Get it!" Paige giggled. "It's on your side!"

"Here we go," Roger squinted and leaned closer to the machine. "Wait for it…"

"Hit it!" Paige laughed, still pressing her button despite the fact that the ball wasn't near her. "Go! Go!"

Roger pressed the button and the white panel flung upwards…_bah-bah-bahhhh_! The game screamed at them, red lights flashing the words: _GAME OVER! Insert 2 Quarters To Continue!_

"Smile Paige!" Maureen called out suddenly. "Come on Roger, smile!"

The smile was wiped off Roger's face in that instant after a bright light flashed, and he turned to found the diva holding up a disposable camera and wearing a large grin. What really caught his senses was the familiar _whirrring_ sound in his ear. Green eyes swiveled dangerously and he saw what he used to see every single day of his life- that _damned _camera.

"Hi Daddy!" Paige waved her hand into the camera and Mark smiled as he let it fall from his eye. "Look!"

"I see, sweetie." Mark smiled as he cranked the handle. "Zoom in on Roger-"

Roger's hand covered the lens abruptly and suddenly the two ex-friends were so close together that Mark could feel Roger's breath on his forehead. "I'm not going to have this argument with you in front of your little girl but don't think you can just waltz back here and stick that fuckin' camera in my face."

"Roger-"

"If you're going to hide behind that damned camera then find somebody else to do it with," Roger hissed.

Mark glared. "I see time hasn't healed whatever wounds you had when I left."

"Yeah, so, you were gone," Roger snarled. "I'd say the same for you anyway."

"Maybe," Mark stated simply.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Two beepers went off. Roger shot Mimi a look and was handed a cup of tea. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle.

"Bottoms up." He glared at Mark and downed the two pills. "It's not AZT, it's Cri-"

"Crixivan," Mark said. "Listen, I may not have been here but I still cared enough to keep up with the disease."

Roger shrugged. "Whatever. I already told you I'm not having this argument with you now."

"Fine," Mark spat. "Merry Christmas."

"Are we leaving, Daddy?" Paige appeared next to Roger. "Can't I stay and play one more game?"

"Sweetie, it's almost 8 o'clock and we've got to head back before it gets too dark." Mark frowned and scooped his daughter into her arms just in time to hear her yawn. "Tired?"

"Nuh-uh."

Mark carefully hugged Maureen, Mimi, and Joanne good night. "I'll see you guys later." He handed Mimi a piece of paper that had the address of the photography gallery on it. "Tomorrow at 6PM? It's Paige's birthday and I was thinking about ordering pizza."

"We'd love to." Joanne smiled, taking her own piece of paper. "I'll bring some soda."

"You really don't have-"

"No way." Maureen smiled. "I'll bring the bee- erm…wine! I'll bring the wine for the adults."

"Great, thanks. Merry Christmas." Mark took Mimi aside quickly and whispered, "Thanks for inviting me back."

Mimi read his mind. "Roger'll come to his senses."

"Still, thanks."

Mimi just nodded and patted Paige's arm. "Bye Paige."

"See yah, kid." Roger nodded simply.

Paige smiled. "Bye Uncle Roger!"

Mark and Roger locked gazes before Mark sighed, adjusted Paige in his arms, and walked out into the snowy December night.

"Damn it!" Mimi yelled suddenly, walking back to the table. "He paid for everybody's meal!"


	4. Birthday Blasts

**Ch4: Birthday Blasts**

**December 26th, 5:56 PM, Eastern Standard Time.**

Below the apartment, sitting in the photography gallery at the makeshift bar, Mark leaned on the bar top in front of him and nervously rubbed his temples from an oncoming headache. He wiped a tired hand across his face and let out a large sigh before pulling his ballpoint pen out from behind his ear and tapping it incessantly against his thigh. Mark chewed the bottom of his lip gingerly and squinted as he looked towards the clipboard lying in front of his eyes. Looking around the gallery, Mark nodded absently before jotting a few meaningless notes down.

"Fucking fabulous," he said to himself as he slammed his pen onto the bar top and ran a hand through his hair.

"You realize that your hair is spiked enough as it is."

Mark whipped around quickly, nearly falling off his barstool. He arched a brow and said, "Punctual as always, Terry."

Terry simply shrugged as she whipped her black coat off and hung it on the coat rack near the door. She took a few long strides towards her brother-in-law and promptly plunked herself down on the barstool next to him. "I see you've been busy." Making a few tsk'ing sounds with her tongue she said, "Please tell me you got some sleep and haven't been up all night working."

"I got some sleep, _Mother_." Mark sighed. "It's not much work. I just found a few more things that need to be worked on and before that I had to run out across the street to pick up Paige's birthday present."

"Last minute?" Terry questioned in disbelief. "You know, Mark, that's not really something fathers are supposed to do."

"Well, if I'd gotten it before today then she would've known what it was," Mark grumbled. "I knew what I was getting her…"

Terry held up her hands in defense. "Sorry. Jeez, are you sure you got some sleep?" Mark simply glared at her. "Okay…not in the mood. I get it." She chuckled. "Where's Paige?"

"Locked herself in her room." Mark rolled his eyes. "She won't let me hear anything she plays until it's absolutely perfect. Not that I mind considering it's still Musetta's Waltz." He shook his head. "I'd rather not bother her anyway, call it a birthday request. What about you? I thought you were going to bring your boyfriend."

"He's parking his car."

Mark raised an eyebrow at the devious smile on Terry's face. "What the hell is that?"

"What?"

"That smile." Mark pointed at it matter-of-factly. "What did you do?"

"You'll see." Terry grinned. "I know you'll love it."

"I don't know about you sometimes…" Mark mumbled before shaking his head and sighing softly. "Okay, well, tell me about him. What's his name? How old? Where'd you meet? How long have you been dating?"

"Jeez, talk about interrogation!" Terry cut him off as she shot him a playful glare. "You'll see him in a few seconds anyway. He's a music producer, about two years older then you. We met at Brown but hadn't seen each other in a long time and we just got caught up about one month ago when we saw each other at Tompkins Square Park. We've been dating for nearly a month."

Mark blinked. "You had Christmas dinner with a guy you've dated for less than a month?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little blond head." Terry slapped Mark's cheek playfully. "I know who I can trust."

"So, what's his name?"

Terry simply smiled as she hopped off her barstool and headed towards the door. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Holy shit!" The _familiar _voice exclaimed.

"What in the… Benny?"

The man walked through the open door, his footsteps confident but his brown eyes wide with disbelief as he met equal surprise in Mark's own blue eyes. Benjamin Coffin III, so-called enemy of Avenue A, looked just the same as he had when Mark had last seen him, clad in usual business attire. Never in a thousand years would Mark have guessed that his sister-in-law would be dating Benny.

"Holy shit, man," Benny repeated. "I didn't understand why Terry refused to tell me your name, but now… shit, Mark. It's been a _long_ time."

"Too long, man." Mark hopped off his stool and held out his hand for a shake. "I didn't know you two knew each other at Brown."

"We had a music class together." Benny smiled as he took the offered hand quickly, not really one for physical contact. Nonetheless, he snaked a hand around Terry's waist and grinned.

"What happened to Muff- oops, sorry. What happened to _Allison_?" Mark questioned.

"As far as I'm concerned, she's Muffy." Benny rolled his eyes. "We divorced about a year after you left. Nothing wrong, really. I guess we just weren't meant to be."

"Good thing too, baby." Terry kissed his cheek and he had enough decency to blush.

Mark raised an eyebrow and Benny muttered, "Don't say _anything_, Cohen."

Mark chuckled. "Don't let me stop this love fest." He walked back to the bar. "I've still got-"

"Oh, no you don't!" Terry somehow had managed to pull away from Benny's hold. She grabbed Mark's clipboard and dangled it in front of the filmmaker's face annoyingly. "It's your daughter's birthday. That means _no_ working."

"But-"

"NO working."

"Fine. Whatever."

"Good boy." Terry smirked, handing the clipboard back to Mark so he could put it away behind the bar.

Suddenly Benny was there with another look of disbelief on his face. "It's _your_ daughter?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Why does everybody always say that? Is it that hard to believe that I could have a daughter?"

"Yes." Benny and Terry said in unison before looking at each other and bursting into laughter simultaneously.

"So glad you find that funny," Mark muttered darkly.

"Come on, Mark," Benny said. "It's _you_. Hell, the last time I saw you, you were this geeky filmmaker who was living with Davis and Mimi… oh, by the way, how are they?"

"You never kept up with them?"

"Wish I could've." Benny shrugged. "The Greys lost ownership of the building so I moved deeper into the city, stayed there even after I got a divorce. I talked to Collins a few times before he died, but after his funeral we all just kind of lost touch."

Mark winced. Collins' death still hurt. "We lost touch too."

"You did- ooff!" Benny winced as Terry shoved him in the side.

"When are they coming?" she questioned.

Mark shrugged, ignoring Benny's questioning look. "I said 6 o'clock but since Maureen is probably still the same as always, they'll be here late." He chewed his lip gingerly. "I'll call Paige down."

"Paige?" Benny asked.

"That's my daughter's name," Mark replied, moving behind the makeshift bar to press a button on the white device plastered to the wall. _Beep. _"Paige, can you hear me?"

"You fixed that piece of shit?" Terry questioned in disbelief. "Last time I saw that it was in pieces on the floor."

Mark shrugged. "It wasn't hard. I bought a new cover and did some rewiring." He pressed the button again and said again, "Paige, can you hear me?"

"Daddy!" Paige's voice spoke through the intercom. "You're not supposed to listen in!"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Paige, sweetie, I need you to come on down here. Aunt Terry is here." He winced at the squealing on the other end and shot a pathetic look to the chuckling Benny. "She's just overexcited."

"Be right down, Daddy!"

Terry shrugged. "I told you! I'm the _favorite _aunt."

"Aunt Terry!" Paige called, skipping happily down the stairs, her beloved guitar clutched safely by the neck.

"Happy birthday!" Terry beamed, brushing past Benny and moving to hug her niece. "Can you believe it? Seems like yesterday I was with your daddy in that LA hospital room!"

Benny quietly moved towards Mark and questioned softly, "Los Angeles? You moved all the way across the country?"

"I was going to come back after a month, but I met my wife…"

"No need." Benny whispered back. "Terry explained that much to me. I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," Mark cut him off quickly. "So… that's my daughter."

"Hard to miss," Benny said, awed. "She's got your eyes, but… why does she have a guitar? I'd thought if you had a child then you'd practically be stuffing a camera down his or her throat."

"Thanks." Mark rolled his eyes. "I told her about New York and everybody that I knew and she kind of got a bit carried away with Roger's side of the story. Hell, she's trying to learn Musetta's Waltz."

"Figures." Benny winced, remembering Roger's incessant playing of the song from his time in the loft. "How old is she?"

"Officially turned five years old about two hours ago." Mark sighed as he checked his watch.

"Daddy!" Paige came running over. "Look what Aunt Paige got me!" She held a book lovingly against her chest. "It teaches me guitar chords!"

"Good, sweetie." Mark bent down to face his daughter eye-to-eye. "Why don't you give me your guitar and present so I can introduce you to my friend."

"But Daddy!" Paige pouted. "I wanna-"

"You can later, Paige," Mark said sternly. "You've locked yourself in your room all day and in a few minutes Mimi is going to come here to have dinner."

"Mimi!" Paige squealed in delight. "What about Uncle Roger?"

Benny leaned in and whispered, "_Uncle_ Roger?"

"Don't ask," Mark hissed as he grabbed the guitar and book, placing the objects on the bar top. He turned his attention back to his daughter and smiled. "Yes, they'll all be here. Now let me introduce you to another one of my friends, Benny."

Paige looked to Benny with wide blue eyes, suddenly noticing the tall man as she hid behind Mark's legs and let out a meek, "Hello."

"Always the shy one," Terry whispered, patting Paige's brown hair before moving back towards Benny and allowing him to snake his hand back around her waist. "Paige, this is _my_ friend, Benjamin Coffin III."

"The third? Why are you three?" Paige questioned, moving around Mark's legs.

"My grandfather and father had the same name, so I was the third in my family to be named Benjamin," Benny replied with a businesslike tone in his voice.

Terry rolled her eyes and whispered, "She's a child, not a client."

Benny shot her a look before returning his attention to Paige. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," Paige replied shyly, moving forward again. "Are you my daddy's brother too?"

"Heh… no, Paige." Benny knelt down to face Paige eye-to-eye. "I've known your daddy since he was eighteen. We've been friends for a long time."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Benny smiled.

"Do you have stories too?" Paige questioned innocently.

"All that and more." Benny tickled her stomach and grinned as she giggled happily. "I know all your daddy's secrets–"

"Okay! That's enough." Mark rolled his eyes. "I swear, she's going to get me in trouble."

"Of course she is," Benny replied as he stood up. "She's your daughter and her job is to embarrass you as much as you embarrass her."

"Terrific."

"Come on!" Paige pulled on Benny's hand. "I gotta show you around!"

"Go on." Terry smiled at her boyfriend. "Have fun."

Mark chuckled as he watched his daughter drag Benny up the stairs of the gallery towards their tiny apartment. "She's going to call him Uncle Benny by the end of the day, isn't she?"

"Wouldn't be surprised," Terry replied. "You didn't tell me she called Davis her uncle."

"Before we moved here I told her that Roger and I were like brothers. I guess she got confused." Mark sighed. "Roger didn't seem to mind."

"That's the good thing about kids." Terry sighed. "They go right into your heart. Hell, I won't be surprised if she calls all your friends her aunts and uncles." She gave a devilish grin. "Might as well get used to calling Benny her uncle-"

"I really don't want to hear about that," Mark interjected, wincing. "The thought of my sister-in-law and one of my best friends… just, no…"

Terry simply laughed. "Touchy."

"MARKY! MARKY!"

"You sure this is the right place, Mimi?"

The voice made Terry and Mark look to the door. Mark walked a few steps towards the window and carefully pushed the maroon curtains to the side. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and squinted through the sunlight.

"This is the street." Mimi's form appeared coming from across the street, Maureen at her side with Joanne at their heels and Roger slouching behind them. "He wrote down 6th street between Avenue C and D…"

Joanne's voice cut in. "The food emporium is down there. Did he want to meet us there?"

"Why would he want to meet us there?" Roger grumbled. "He knows we know where that place is."

"Well I don't see any apartments around here," Joanne argued. "Are you sure you're reading it right? Maybe he meant down another avenue."

"It says C and D!" Maureen shouted. "Do you think- oh, shut up Roger!" She stuck her tongue at the musician as he gave her a look that would kill. "You like his daughter, don't you? She's sweet!"

"Unlike somebody we know…" Roger muttered under his breath.

Maureen stopped and turned on her heel. "You're just mad that he's got his life together! Can't you let him be happy?"

"He's a sellout!" Roger yelled.

Mimi grabbed Roger's arm while Joanne took Maureen's.

"Come on, love." Mimi sighed. "You said you'd behave."

"Yea- Mrmmrrmm!"

Joanne put her hand over Maureen's mouth and frowned. "Honey bear, don't make me staple your mouth shut."

"Sorry, Pookie," Maureen mumbled.

Mark chuckled as he continued to watch his friends from the window of the photography gallery. He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around quickly to find Terry looking at him expectantly. "Aren't you going to go wave them down?"

Nodding, Mark closed the curtain and moved towards the door. He pushed through it and waved down the street shouting, "Mimi!"

"Definitely not an apartment, Joanne," Roger muttered, a second later recoiling at the vicious glare from the dark-skinned lawyer.

Maureen rushed across the street and right into the arms of the blond filmmaker. She hugged him fiercely as she planted a kiss on his cheek before jumping back out of the embrace. "I thought we were going to where you live!"

Mark hugged Joanne and Mimi and stopped short at Roger, chewing his lip as Roger averted his eyes, before turning back to the three women and gesturing them inside. "This is the place. Sorry I wasn't specific enough. We live in the loft above the place."

"What about my offer?" Mimi whispered, walking into the building. "I thought you were thinking about it."

"Have you told Roger yet?" Mark hissed back, to which Mimi shook her head. "Then I'm still thinking."

"Wow!" Maureen whistled.

"What is this place, Mark?" Joanne asked.

"It used to be a bar," he replied. "We're making it into a photography gallery that should open sometime next year, hopefully early April or late May."

"What happened to filmmaking?" Mimi questioned.

"I've still got that going on." Mark smiled. "This is like a memorial to Audrey, my wife. She was a photographer and I got some of her old prints developed so that they could be displayed here along with some of my old ones."

Terry coughed. "Sorry to interrupt, but care to introduce me?"

Mark blushed. "Sorry. Guys? This is Terry Ram. She's my sister-in-law."

"Pleasure." Terry nodded. "It's nice to put the names to face. Let me guess," she gestured with her eyes, "Joanne Jefferson, Maureen Johnson, Mimi Marquez, and Roger Davis?"

Maureen positively beamed. "Mark told you about us?"

"Mostly." Terry smiled.

"Nothing bad, I hope." Mimi smiled, reaching out to shake Terry's hand.

"Well…" Terry's eyes traveled past all of them and landed on Roger Davis. "No… nothing _horrible_."

Roger simply stared right back at her.

Sensing the awkwardness, Joanne stepped forward. "Here, Mark. We brought wine for the adults."

"Thanks." Mark took the bottle and carried it back to the makeshift bar. "That means a lot."

"DADDY!" Paige flew down the stairs, still dragging Benny. "Uncle Benny killed a bug for me!"

Benny simply laughed and wiped his shoes on the carpet at the base of the stairwell. "Thanks to that cockroach I've nearly ruined these. I hope you're aware that you've got a nasty bug problem…"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Noted."

"Benny!" Mimi exclaimed, squealing. She took off at a run and hugged the man.

"Mimi, it's been a long time." Benny returned the hug. "You look… healthy."

"Good. We all are." Mimi beamed. "What about you? I haven't heard from you since you told us about Allison and the divorce. What are you doing here?"

Terry walked up to her boyfriend and kissed his cheek. "He's mine."

"Eeewww!" Paige giggled, scrunching up her nose disgustedly. "Aunt Terry!"

"Get used to it, kid." Benny smirked, kneeling down to tickle Paige's stomach. He let her struggle against his tickle attack for a few minutes before addressing the other three bohemians. "Joanne and Maureen, still together?" The women nodded and greeted him. "Davis…"

"Good to see you again." Roger shook his hand.

_What the…? _Mark thought to himself as the two men exchanged a welcome. Sure, it was nice to see the two friends get along again, but Mark was simply floored at the thought that Benny was getting more of a welcome than he was. Wasn't Benny considered a sellout too? It had taken Roger a long time to forgive the man the first time…maybe that's what was happening to Mark.

"Mark." Mimi rubbed his shoulder. "Something wrong?"

"They're friends?" he questioned, running a hand through his hair.

"They worked things out," Mimi replied. "You and Roger can too."

Mark shook his head and sighed. "Somehow I don't think it's going to be that easy."

"Nothing is ever easy," Mimi said, smiling sympathetically. "Just talk to him."

"Not today…"

"Uncle Roger!" Paige ran into the arms of the musician. "Did you keep playing pinball when Daddy and I left?"

"Of course," Roger said, tone gentler in the presence of the little girl. "Got the high score too."

"It's true," Maureen put in. "Your Uncle Roger's really good at that game."

Paige giggled. "He woulda got a higher score if I was helping! Right?"

"You bet." Roger smiled. "You're my good luck charm."

Mark watched as Mimi laughed and went over to entertain his daughter along with the rest of his friends. The little girl blossomed with the attention, almost like Maureen had when she'd jumped in front of Mark's camera. He smiled at the thought as he moved towards the makeshift bar and took out his camera, setting it up on the tripod and pointing it at the crowd in front of him. He found himself just watching…

"You okay?" Terry popped up behind him, voice soft.

Mark just smiled. "Right after Paige was born I started thinking about coming back to New York City and letting her meet her extended family, my real family. None of us are related by blood, but that's what they are to me. Audrey always told me that she'd love to come to New York but we never came…"

"Why not?"

"I don't know." Mark shrugged. "I asked Audrey to marry me and all her friends were in Los Angeles so I didn't want to take the wedding away from there. We got our first house and New York came up again but the next month she found out she was pregnant and I didn't want to leave because of her condition. There was no way I was going to bring a baby to New York City so we stayed and waited until Paige got older, but then…"

"Audrey died," Terry whispered, close to tears. "Two years ago today."

"It's like everything was keeping me from coming back here." Mark shook his head. "But then I realized that the time would never be right, so I just packed up and did it." Blinking back tears, he looked to Terry and saw her holding back her own. "Shit, I'm sorry…"

"No, it's okay." She let a few teardrops fall down her cheeks. "I'm fine."

"Come on." Mark pulled the woman into a fierce hug. "I miss her too."

"Hey, now." Terry coughed, pulling out of the embrace after a few seconds. "Audrey wouldn't want us to mourn her death, she'd want us to celebrate her life."

"Right." Mark handed her a handkerchief and smiled.

The bohemians crowded up the stairs to Mark's apartment and sat in the living room, catching up and chatting away like old times, the only difference being that Mark and Roger barely even talked to each other. It was as if the two best friends were strangers. Whenever Mark tried to make eye contact or start a conversation with the other man, Roger would either change the subject or ignore him entirely. The others noticed the hostility but for Paige's sake refrained from commenting.

_Thankfully they're at least keeping the profanity down,_ Mark thought to himself.

"Daddy, when are we going to have pizza?" Paige asked from Maureen's lap. "Aunt Mo's stomach is growling really loud."

Mark chuckled along with the rest. "Right now if you want, sweetie."

Paige bobbed her head excitedly. "Then ice cream!"

"Slow down." Mark smiled, getting the pizza he had ordered. "Don't you want to open your presents?"

"Presents?" Paige's blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Of course." Mark scooped his daughter off of Maureen and smiled. "What do you think happens on your birthday?"

"Presents first!" Paige beamed. "PLEASE!"

"I thought you were hungry." Mark smiled jokingly. "We were going to have pizza…"

"Not that hungry!" Paige pouted. "Please, Daddy!" She twisted in his arms and looked to Roger. "Uncle Roger! You're not hungry, are you?"

Roger smirked. "No, I'm good."

"All right." Mark kissed his daughter's forehead.

"Oh!" Maureen exclaimed, waving a small newspaper-wrapped gift in the air. "Joanne and I got something for you, Paige!"

Paige jumped out of Mark's arms and hugged Maureen happily. "Thank you!"

"You really didn't have to," Mark hissed to Joanne. "You've only known her for one day."

"It's a gift." Joanne smiled. "It seems like we're all rushing into this, but it feels right. Doesn't it?"

"I guess. I mean, she has seemed to warm up to everyone well, but I think that's because she feels like she knows you all. Ever since she was a baby I've been showing her my old films of New York."

"Daddy, look!" Paige held up a stuffed cow. "Aunt Mo said her name is Elsie!"

_Figures…_ Mark shot Joanne a look and the lawyer just shrugged. The filmmaker snapped a picture with his camera. "Very nice, sweetie. What do you say?"

"Thank you." She hugged Maureen then moved to Joanne and repeated, "Thank you!"

"Don't forget your Uncle Roger," Mimi said from her place on the couch. "He's got something for you too."

"It's not much." Roger scratched the back of his head as he produced his own newspaper-wrapped gift. "Here you go, kid."

"THANK YOU!" Paige happily threw her arms around Mimi and Roger. Clutched in her hand was the sheet music for Musetta's waltz, which, in actuality, she couldn't read.

"No problem, kid." Roger smiled, returning the hug. He leaned down and whispered into her ear, "You annoy your daddy real good with that song, okay? For me."

And as Paige giggled and nodded her acceptance, Mark snapped a picture. He brought his camera down to find Roger's gaze on him, a familiar glint shining in the green eyes. They shared a small smile that went as quickly as it had come. Roger looked away.

"Paige, can you pass out the pizza while I go downstairs to get your gift?" Mark took a deep breath and stood. "I've got to get my video camera too."

"Uh-huh!" Paige nodded as she hopped out of Roger's arms and ran into the kitchen.

"Care to lend a hand," Mark bit his tongue against saying Roger, "Benny?"

"Sure," Benny said hesitatingly before following the man down the stairwell. "So, I take it Davis has an attitude problem with your being back in New York?" he questioned as soon as they were out of earshot.

Mark rolled his eyes and carefully picked his camera up. "Something like that."

"Mm-hmmm."

_Shit…_

"Listen, Benny, I'm sorry about-"

"-the way you treated me?" Benny shook his head. "Forget it. That's in the past."

"I'm still sorry."

"Forget it," Benny repeated. "Besides, it was mostly Davis and Maureen who gave me a hard time. You weren't too bad."

"Gee, thanks."

"He'll come around, Mark." Benny sighed, following Mark into the back room of the gallery.

_Am I the only one with doubts?_

"Sure." Mark sighed, pushing a few boxes away. "Here, can you hold my camera while I carry this? Or do you want to carry that?" He pointed to a faded looking carrier. "It isn't heavy."

"What is it?" Benny bent down and squinted through the darkness. "Shit, Mark! A _dog_?"

_Ruff! Ruff! _the black Labrador barked. _Ruff!_

"It's nothing."

"She hit you with the puppy dog eyes?"

Mark stared. "Am I the only one who wasn't warned about that?"

"Apparently." Benny smirked. "So, how'd you get it?"

Mark rolled his eyes and carefully placed his camera in Benny's hands, telling him not to drop it. After a moment, he replied, "Well, I sold the house in LA for money to buy this place, and when my mother died and left me money I put half of it in a bank for Paige when she gets older and used the other half of it to pay for the repairs going into the gallery. I've got some money from the job I had in LA at a television station."

"You're not broke or in debt?"

"Broke? No. In debt?" Mark shook his head. "When did I ever ask you for money?"

"Point taken." Benny followed Mark out of the storage room. "So you've been doing all right since you left the city."

"Well… considering everything that's happened, yeah." Mark sighed.

"Sorry."

"No need to apologize. Like you said, forget it. It's in the past." Mark heaved the carrier up the stairs and waited for Benny to open the door before placing a smile on his face. "All right, Paige!"

"Daddy! What is it?" Paige jumped off her seat and ran to the carrier, inspecting it curiously.

Mimi looked at it and realization dawned "Mark got hit with the puppy dog eyes!"

_I am clueless…_ Mark glared at her as he knelt down and opened the carrier. "Look here, sweetie." He picked up the black dog and pulled it close to his chest. "What do you think?"

"A PUPPY!" Paige exclaimed, throwing herself around Mark's waist. "THANK YOU DADDY!"

Mark grinned. "You know, she'll grow up to be just as tall as you."

"Really?" Blue eyes widened as Mark passed the dog into Paige's arms. The little girl laughed as the pink tongue licked across her face excitedly.

"Awww!" Maureen cooed. "How cute. What are you going to name her, Paige?"

"I get to name her?" Paige smiled happily as she looked back and forth between Maureen and Mark. "Do I, Daddy?"

"It's your dog." Mark chuckled. "Name her whatever you want."

"A good name." Terry piped up from Benny's arms. "Something you'll remember."

Paige chewed her lip in concentration as she patted the puppy's belly. "Musetta," she whispered in a way that seemed too serious for a five-year-old girl, finally getting the word correctly pronounced. "Her name is Musetta, Daddy."

"We dub thee Musetta!" Maureen snickered. "Good name, huh Roger?"

"Fine name." Roger nodded his approval. "Really nice choice, kid."

Paige grinned.

They crowded around the dining room table, chairs shoved together closely to fit all eight people. An assortment of pizza was exchanged and wine was poured -Pepsi to Paige- as meaningless chatter ensued. Benny grinned at Mark, passing his camera back.

"Thanks," Mark whispered as he turned the camera on and announced quietly, "December 26th, 8:56 PM, Eastern Standard Time: Two years have passed since Audrey died, but I know that she's watching as we celebrate her life, and our daughter's…"

"HEY LOOK!" Maureen shouted from her end of the table. "MARKY'S BACK BEHIND HIS CAMERA AGAIN!"

Everybody laughed.

Mark put his camera down and blushed. "Thanks, Mo…" He looked up see Roger shooting him a black glare and quickly thought, _I do not detach._

"Daddy?" Paige questioned innocently, "Wha's Aunt Mo talking about? Aunt Terry said you always-"

"Okay!" Mark covered Paige's mouth quickly, almost dropping his camera in the process, as his glare shot daggers at his sister-in-law. "I'm guess _you_ said something to her?"

"Not my fault it's the truth." Terry giggled, chomping down on her pizza. "I seem to recall one night, at Brown when you were eighteen, that we snuck off to a bar and you nearly got punched in the face when you shoved your camera in this guy's face!"

"No way!" Mimi giggled. "_Mark Cohen_ went into a _bar_!"

More laughter.

"I remember that night." Benny smirked, sipping his wine. "You skipped class that day."

"Skipped class?" Joanne raised an eyebrow. "Now we know you're not talking about our Mark."

Benny smirked again. "It's true. Came home with a bruise he sported for at least two weeks."

"I remember that," Roger piped up. "You came to New York and had that shiner on your face and nearly got beat up by those two druggies. That's when we met."

Mark shuddered. _Shitty memory time…_

"Wait!" Mimi cut in, sensing the tense mood. "Why were you shoving your camera in this guy's face? I know you aren't really one to actually stick your camera in a random guy's face, especially if the guy's _drunk_…"

Mark blushed as eyes turned to Terry expectantly. The woman simply giggled and said, "I never said Mark was sober. It _was_ a _bar_!"

Maureen erupted in laughter. "Marky got drunk!"

"I don't get it, Daddy," Paige said, eyes narrowing in confusion. "What's _sober _and _drunk_?"

"Drunk is- Mmrrmm!"

"Think before opening your mouth, Maureen!" Joanne frowned, her hand covering her girlfriend's mouth. The lawyer turned towards the five-year-old and smiled sweetly as she said, "Something that happens to people. Your daddy'll explain when your older."

"How old?" Paige questioned. "A long time?"

"The age when you start going out with boys." Terry smirked. "How old would that be, Mark?"

"Fifty," Mark replied, completely serious. "No boys until you're fifty."

The rest of the table erupted in laughter.

"I don't get it!" Paige muttered. "Adults are _weird_…"

The conversation drifted throughout the table as ice cream was served. Fortunately for Mark, no more embarrassing stories were shared between his friends, his sister-in-law, and his daughter. It seemed that Paige was the life of the party. As predicted she was calling each person her aunt or uncle by the end of the meal, not that Mark really minded. Sure Joanne had been right when she said they were rushing into it, but it just seemed…_right_.

"Shit," Mark whispered under his breath after looking at that end of the table, sighing softly in relief as he made sure Paige hadn't heard him curse.

"Something wrong?" Benny questioned, Terry looking over worriedly.

"You tell me." Mark chuckled hollowly. "Maureen is giving my five-year-old chocolate at 10 o'clock. She'll be up all night at this rate."

"Holy cr-" Terry looked up just in time to see Paige staring at her with wide eyes, "-crud… I've got a really big deadline due tomorrow, some chick wants this picture taken- whatever. I've really got to go." She stood up, Benny following her lead. "Wait, baby, you don't have to leave on my account."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Terry kissed his cheek. "Don't anybody get up on my account, I can show myself out. It was really nice to meet you all." Everyone nodded pleasantly and exchanged goodbyes. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Aunt Terry." Paige hugged her happily.

"No problem." She knelt down to look her eye-to-eye. "You're so much like your mother. Don't you forget that." Paige giggled as Terry poked her nose good-naturedly and turned to hug Mark, saying softly, "It's much better now, isn't it? Have fun with your friends."

"Thanks," Mark whispered back.

Terry simply winked. "I'll get the new changes to the department. Try not to work tomorrow."

"Actually, it is pretty late." Mark said as he turned on his heel and arched an eyebrow in Paige's direction. The little five-year-old had attached herself to the black Labrador, Musetta, and was trying to teach her to fetch. Mark winced as the lamp was knocked over and hastily continued, "Time for bed, sweetie."

"Daddy! I'm not even tired!" Paige pouted, patting Musetta's head. "It's still my birthday!"

"Actually," Mark sighed, picking his daughter off the floor and moving into her bedroom, "it stopped being your birthday about three minutes ago. Congratulations, you are five years old." He grinned as he kissed his daughter's forehead. "Now it's time for you to go to sleep."

"What about Musetta?" Paige questioned. "She gets to stay with me, right?"

"Well-"

"Please, Daddy!" Paige pleaded. "She won't be any trouble! I'll go to sleep. Promise!"

"Fine." Mark sighed as he went back for the dog and placed her in her crate at the foot of the bed. "You'd better be fast asleep by the time I come to check on you."

"Yes, Daddy." Paige giggled, and before Mark could leave, she questioned, "Daddy, why'd you leave New York before? Uncle Roger said that you left and then came back."

The question pierced through Mark's heart like a stab wound to the chest. He'd thought of so many reasons for his leaving New York City and all of his friends and family behind but had never been able to come up with a single answer. Perhaps it was because Mark was looking for a certain answer, an answer that would better explain his reasons for leaving. Maybe deep inside, Mark knew why he left New York, but he just didn't want to face it. The undeniable truth.

"I had to get away, sweetie," Mark finally answered, still not ready to face that truth. "There were so many things here that held me back from who and what I wanted to be. Moving to LA seemed like a logical step towards what I wanted to do."

Paige yawned. "You came back."

Mark rubbed Paige's shoulder gently as he nodded. "Yeah. I finally figured out, after seven years, that I belong in New York."

"How come it took you so long to figure that out?"

"I met your mommy and we got married and had you. There were many times I thought about coming back to New York, but I didn't think it work out."

"How did you think it was going to work out?"

Another good question. Hell, but it wasn't a question Mark wanted to explain to his little girl. How the hell was he supposed to tell Paige that he thought Roger and everybody else in their bohemian family would be dead? What kind of right-minded person would tell their daughter that he didn't want to come back because he was afraid of the deaths of his friends? So it was true, Mark hid. Mark hid and he had found something so great in LA that as soon as if left, he left too, back to New York. Back to the city where he hadn't been sure if he'd see Roger and Mimi again, just like he hadn't seen Collins.

_Fuck… Collins…_

"That's a question for later, sweetie." Mark sighed. "Now go to sleep. I don't want to have to say it again."

"Okay, Daddy." Paige giggled as she cuddled up closer to her stuffed cow, Elsie. "Night…"

"Sleep tight, sweetie," Mark said, and with one last kiss to her forehead he was turning off her bedroom light, closing the door, and wandering back into the living room. The rest -Maureen, Joanne, Mimi, Roger, and Benny- had migrated to the tiny room with satisfied smiles on their faces as they talked amongst themselves.

"She's a cutie." Joanne looked up to him, smiling. "Is she sleeping?"

"Yeah." Mark nodded, sighing. "Doesn't take a long time until she's out like a light, even with all that chocolate Maureen stuffed into her. Surprising, huh?" He chuckled. "Thanks for coming over."

"Maybe we should go," Roger quietly said. "Wouldn't want to wake the kid up."

"No!" Mark cut in quickly, quieting immediately as he realized how loud he's gotten. "No… it'd be all right if you'd stayed. Just to…you know…catch up?"

"We really-"

"There's a new bar on Avenue B where the Cat Scratch Club got torn down," Mimi said quickly, cutting off Roger's words. "We could have lunch there tomorrow afternoon. Can you make it?"

"I've got early work tomorrow," Roger said angrily. "Lunch won't work."

"Fine. How about dinner?" Mimi elbowed Roger's side. "What do you say?"

"We'll be there," Maureen and Joanne agreed with nods. "Just name a time."

"Well…I guess I could get Terry to watch Paige." Mark said.

"Guess that means I'm in." Benny chuckled. "Take away my girlfriend and I'm as free as a bird."

"All right," Mark said. "Tomorrow at 7 o'clock?"

"Great," Roger said stoutly, pulling Mimi out of the room. "See you tomorrow."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger let out a growl as he shoved his hands into his trademark leather jacket and hung his head so low that his green eyes were instantly hidden behind his brown hair. He cringed at the burning daggers being shot into his back by Mimi's gaze as he stumbled through the snow-covered city, his legs freezing cold because of the various holes in his jeans.

There was absolutely no talk as Roger and Mimi traveled the short distance toward Avenue B and made their way towards the top floor of what was once a music publishing factory. Roger immediately made a beeline for the kitchen as he swung open the dark brown cupboard and pulled out their pill bottles. They drank them down with full glasses of water just in time to hear their beepers go off.

"Are you going to give me the silent treatment the whole night?" Roger questioned as Mimi wordlessly washed the empty glasses before placing them on the rack to dry overnight. "What did I do wrong this time? Was it Mark?"

"What the hell do you mean_ was it Mark?" _Brown eyes laced in anger glared right back at Roger. "I asked you to try and be nice to him because we haven't seen him in seven years! Was it _that _hard to be civil?"

"I was civil-"

"No you weren't!" Mimi cut off his words. "You were anything but civil. Jackass, maybe."

"I was nice to his daughter!" Roger spat back. "I'd call Cohen lucky that I didn't kick his ass right then and there! He _sold out_ Mimi! How do you not see that? _Seven years!"_

Eyes flashing, Mimi steeped forward and poked her finger at Roger's chest, shouting, "He may have left for seven years but at least he came back to what he was so afraid of."

"Oh, yeah? And what would that be?" Roger questioned, the same fury burning in his eyes. "Back to the pity? Back to the Life? Back to Bohemia? Back to-"

"_Back to facing the fact that he'll be the survivor out of all of us!" _Mimi shouted so loudly that it was a wonder if anybody in New York was still sleeping.

"Well have pity on poor Mark Cohen," Roger hissed, his voice no longer loud but a harsh whisper. He turned on his heel and walked towards the couch, no longer duct-taped together. Roger picked up his Fender and strummed it distastefully. "Poor baby should be so lucky as to survive in this world."

"Lucky to survive in this world with all his friends dead and gone?" Mimi asked, voice softening. "Lucky to survive after going to our funerals mourning over our dead bodies…oh, yeah, Roger, he's real lucky." She walked to the bedroom door and said, "Think about what it would be like to be on the outside of the disease, love. In my opinion living's not much good if almost everyone you love is dying…"

She left. Down to sleep the night away.

The rock rendition of Musetta's Waltz quickly filled the air as Roger continued to strum his beloved Fender lovingly. The escape of being lost in his instrument… almost the same as being lost in a camera. Grumbling under his breath, Roger jumped off the couch and pushed his guitar back into its case before tearing off his leather jacket and pacing the loft.

Seven years hadn't done anything to change the loft, not really. Roger had been able to take _Your Eyes _to the radio station where he found a record contract to make his first and only album: _One Song Glory. _Twelve tracks featuring all- new songs he'd written just months after Mimi's near-death experience and Mark's move. It didn't do horribly; it was near the top twenties and for a time _One Song Glory_ was the number one song played on the radio. And it had gotten Mimi and Roger enough money to fix up the loft and pay for medical insurance for their new medications.

Mimi had decorated the loft, picking brown and black leather furniture as well as a medium-sized television set and a dark wooden coffee table. She'd cleaned off the wooden floors and had paid to get the skylight fixed so that it wasn't a hole in the ceiling. She'd cleaned up the kitchen area too, buying a dining room table with room for eight people. It was there that Roger was pacing now.

Pace. Grumble. Pace. Grumble. Pace. Grumble.

"_I see time hasn't healed whatever wounds you had when I left." _Mark had said.

_Hell no it hasn't. Nothing cures HIV._

Roger stopped suddenly, standing next to his and Mimi's bedroom door. He stared straight into the framed picture of April Ericsson, the black-and-white photograph showing her sitting at the bar of CBGB's. She was balancing a cigarette between her fingers as she winked seductively at the camera. Roger ran a finger over the picture, his eyes glazing slightly at the memory of his first true love…or maybe just a relationship that clung to the notion of a "Whose life is more fucked up" contest. April had won, of course.

More black-and-white photographs lined the perimeter of the loft, each showing a picture of one of their friends. Angel in all her glory wearing her enticing Santa suit as she played her ten- gallon plastic pickle tub, Mimi dancing on the old duct-taped couch, Roger sitting in his bedroom playing his guitar, Collins sitting on a random stoop drinking from his trademark Stoli bottle, Maureen performing at the eleventh street lot, Joanne sitting at the Life Café. Even Benny was there, a simple headshot hanging by the door.

_You're still a sellout, _Roger told the last picture on the wall. The picture right next to his own. _You left us… you left me…_

Mark Cohen, standing on the roof with a small smile on his face, his camera cradled under his arm.

They'd found the pictures on the floor of Mark's abandoned room, a note taped to them: _I got these developed when everybody was at the Life Café and I told you I wasn't feeling well. I'm sorry for lying, but this was something I thought I had to do. It isn't my place anymore to tell you to put these on the walls of the loft, but maybe it would be a good idea. We never did pay attention to the walls of the loft because they were so plain, holding nothing but bad memories. Well, I want you to give them better memories._

"What's the matter with the idea?" Collins had questioned when Roger immediately tried to throw the photographs away. "They're our memories, aren't they? Take the boy's advice, and let them live in the loft too."

Mimi was the one who put the pictures on the wall, though, saying, "I don't care what you think of them, love. Sometimes we need memories to look back on, even if they aren't always happy. That makes our emotions stay true and _that_ makes us humans."

Roger understood that; he just _hated _memories that much.

_Nothing changes the fact that you left us, _Roger told Mark's picture. _Even though you came back, nothing changes the fact that you did leave us and you never even called._

How much trouble was one phone call? Was it too much to ask for? What about a letter? Even a letter would have made Roger happier. It was better than thinking that his best friend was dead. Maybe if he'd left a phone number then the filmmaker could have come back for Collins' funeral.

_Of course, maybe I should've seen this coming…_

**December 1991, 1:23 PM, Eastern Standard Time**

"_What are you doing home?"_

_The brown-haired musician turned around quickly, accidentally slamming the loft door closed as his green eyes focused on the curious blue ones looking back at him. Roger gave a faint smile as he unconsciously pulled the collar of his leather jacket up and shuddered against the coldness of the loft. He looked at Mark, sitting in the windowsill with his camera set up on a tripod in front of him._

"_Mark," Roger finally replied, trying to calm his breathing. "You scared me. I thought you went out to lunch with Collins."_

_Mark let out a cheeky grin as he adjusted himself in his seat. "I wasn't hungry, so Collins went with Benny instead. Are you all right? Usually you're at the hospital."_

"_Yeah, well, she's getting released tomorrow morning and…we were going to-"_

"_She kicked you out?"_

_Roger nodded pathetically. "She knew I'd spent every second in that hospital and got kind of grossed out because I haven't had the chance to shower or anything." As he ran a hand through his hair he wrinkled his nose disgustedly and said, "I guess she's right." He wiped his hand on his pant leg and chuckled. "Greasy."_

_Rolling his eyes, Mark nodded. "Maybe you should go take a shower."_

"_Right. Heh…" Roger chuckled nervously as he wiped his hand on his jeans again. "What about you?"_

"_I took a shower, thanks for asking."_

"_No, I mean," Roger shuffled nervously on his feet, "What have you been up to? You only visited Mimi two days ago and since then Collins and Maureen have been telling me that you're either editing your so-called finished documentary or out shooting some footage. There hasn't really been time for us to talk."_

"_Is there something wrong?" Mark questioned. "Is Mimi all right? Are _you _all right?"_

_Roger shook his head. "No, we're all fine. Health-wise and mentally, it's been getting better since Christmas."_

"_So what's the problem?"_

"_I don't know." Roger kicked his boot against a floorboard. He took a few long strides towards Mark and easily plopped down in the windowsill so that he could sit across from his friend, one foot tucked underneath him as the other leg swung childishly. Mark turned slightly to face him. "There's just been a lot going on and I haven't really asked about you lately."_

_Mark blinked. _Definitely not expecting that. _"Me? What about me?"_

"_Is something wrong?" Roger asked, eyes averted. "Usually you'd be in the hospital with us helping Mimi and shit… helping me…"_

"_Oh," Mark said. "I don't know. I guess I just figured you and Mimi would want to talk about things. You didn't exactly leave on the best of terms with her."_

"_Well," Roger nearly brushed his hand through his hair again but twitched suddenly as he remembered how dirty it was. It was a damned nervous habit that Roger couldn't seem to kick. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "You know, Mark, we didn't leave on magnificent terms either… I mean, after everything I said to you-"_

"_That?" Mark interrupted, head shooting up. He pushed his glasses up his nose and put a smile on his face. "It's no problem. We were both messes, after what had happened that day and all. Sure wasn't the best of times to be judging our emotions."_

_Roger gulped nervously and questioned, "So we're okay?"_

"_Yeah." Mark nodded, averting his eyes again. "We're fine."_

"_You're okay?" Mark just nodded again. "Okay… well, good. Good! Okay. That's good." Roger chuckled. "I guess I'll just take a shower then." He pushed himself off of the windowsill, pressing a hand to Mark's shoulder. "Dinner tonight is take-out. Benny's paying."_

"_Great," Mark mumbled. He fiddled with his camera some more before quickly looking up to see Roger's his roommate leaving. "Hey, Rog?"_

"_Yeah, Mark?" Roger turned, a smile on his face._

_Mark's breath hitched in his throat and he coughed into his hand to clear it. "Just erm… I wanted-" He looked up "Never mind…"_

"_Mark?" Roger raised his eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"_

_Chuckling hollowly, Mark smiled. "No, of course not. Just wanted to tell you that you smell really bad. Just throw your clothes in your room so I can get some laundry done."_

"_Yes, mother." Roger rolled his eyes._

"_Wash behind your ears, Rogy!" Mark called after his friend's back._

_Roger laughed, his hand coming up to flash Mark the finger before giving one last smirk and shutting the door._

_Mark's playful smile fell off his face as quick as it came. He moved the hand covering the white envelope he'd been hiding from his best friend. A ticket out of New York City. Hopefully to a place of change and no more having to deal with pain. No more having to pretend to be all right…_


	5. Bringing Back Memories

**Ch5: Bringing Back Memories**

The Life Café had always been a quiet place where Mark could go when he had problems that he needed to get his mind off of or when he just wanted to let his scrambled thoughts sort themselves out. Since that first night in New York City when he'd been reunited with Roger for the first time, he'd made it routine to come to the café whenever he had troubles with life. Mark would just sit at the bar, tea cup in his hand, and look down into the hot, dark liquid, thinking over whatever was on his mind. His mind would drift and he would take comfort from knowing that he could find a sort of escape from the city without having to resort to drugs or meaningless sex. It had been from this café, the very last building he was in before leaving New York, that Mark had called the bus station and ordered a one-way ticket to hightail it out of the city.

But sometimes looking to a tea cup for escape just didn't work.

Mark looked down into his cup, breathing in the familiar sweet scent as he relished the warm feeling of the hot ceramic against the palms of his hands. He couldn't help but frown as he looked into the brown liquid, seeking an escape from his thoughts but finding none. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, Mark let out a deep sigh and looked away from his drink to focus on the task at hand. He'd pulled all of his papers from his bag and had been attempting into sort them into piles–unknown, important, bills, and other. Fortunately, he had a very small pile of bills and a big pile of important.

"How's it goin', stranger?"

Tea cup stopping halfway to his lips, Mark peered over the rim of his glasses and found himself staring into Mimi's large brown eyes. She was in her waitress uniform of black jeans and a simple green blouse with a white apron tied around her waist. She looked quite the stereotypical waitress to Mark, a half-empty coffee pot in her hand and a slight smile on her face. She'd certainly come a long way from dancing at the Cat Scratch Club.

"Mimi," Mark greeted with a slight smile, "what are you doing here?"

Mimi promptly rolled her eyes and placed the coffee pot down. "Working. What does it look like?"

"Not dancing, that's for sure." Mark wagged his eyebrows mockingly and gave a short snort of laughter. He sipped his tea quickly before placing it back down into its saucer and tapping his spoon against it. "I didn't know you were working today," he said after a moment, clarifying his earlier question.

Mimi simply giggled, causing Mark's heart to wrench uncomfortably. Mimi's bottom lip puffed out slightly, her eyes closed briefly, and her whole body leaned forward as the sound emerged from her lips. The filmmaker's good memory was a source of pride to him, but he hadn't heard that giggle in a long time and it brought back memories. Suddenly he was flashing back to New Year's when she had been telling him and Roger all about her plan to return to school. Her beaming smile as she told everybody the sins of being a stripper as she danced on the Life Café's table.

"…so he tells me he was drunk!"

Mark immediately snapped out of it at Mimi's outburst. He hadn't realized he'd zoned out while she was speaking through her laughter, every other word coming out as a soft splutter. Sipping his tea again, trying to hide his frown behind his cup, Mark replied, "Oh…really?"

Mimi paused as she pursed her lips thoughtfully and leaned forward on her elbows so that her chin was resting in her hands her pointer fingers tapped her cheeks and her frown deepened. "You're thinking again."

Mark blushed. "I'm not," he insisted hastily.

She shook her head. She pushed herself off the counter and pointed to his forehead. "When you think your eyebrows knit together so your eyes look smaller behind those glasses you always wear. Plus, you always tilt your head…" Mimi tilted her head slightly in example and smiled slightly. "You're _always_ thinking."

"Just got a lot on my mind is all," Mark mumbled.

"I'll say." She took hold of one of the piles of papers that he was holding and flipped through them. Brown eyes flashed across the multitude of lines and a faint smile grew on her face as she read. "Aw! Is this your daughter's birth certificate!" He nodded. "Damn, Mark, you're really packing the official shit, aren't you? Immunization records, social security…"

"Yeah." Mark hastily snatched the documents away from Mimi's curious eyes and quickly put them back into the manila folder. "It's for the East Village Elementary School over on 12th street. I'm going to enroll Paige into the preschool class." He held out the form the administrator had given him and allowed Mimi to look over it. "I just needed to show them identification and shit like that."

"Seems a bit personal if you ask me." She frowned at the blank form and handed it back to him.

"It's what all schools want." Mark shrugged as he sipped his tea. "Besides, it makes it easier on me, since I can drop Paige off for school in the morning and spend some time running the gallery and looking for a job before I have to pick her up again in the afternoon."

"Afternoon?" Mimi pursed her lips. "Wow. That doesn't seem like much time to look for a job."

"Almost five hours." Mark shrugged again.

Mimi opened her mouth to reply but was quickly cut off by a shout of her name. "_Davis!_" Both bohemians turned around in time to see a large woman standing in the kitchen window wearing a very smug frown on her face. She cocked an eyebrow and said snottily, "This is _not_ time to chat with your friends, Davis. You've _paying _customers waiting for some _good _service. Now!"

Rolling her eyes, not caring that the large woman saw her, Mimi quickly replied, "Yes ma'am." She turned back to Mark and gave a small smile. "Sorry about that, she's the manager after all. Listen, if you could stick around for a while, I get off for my lunch break…?"

"Sure." Mark picked up his folders, trying not to spill their contents on the floor, and hopped off his stool. "I'll be over there," he gestured with his eyes towards the empty booth at the corner of the café, "working on all this shit."

"You don't have to move on my manager's account."

"Well, it'll be easier for you to concentrate." Mark gave a small smile. "Besides, with all this paperwork I'm going to need as much room as I can."

"All right…" Mimi nodded. "Well, I _am _working. Is there anything I can get you?"

"How 'bout another cup of tea?"

"Sure. Coming right up."

Mimi was true to her word and handed Mark another cup of tea as soon as he was settled. He vaguely heard Mimi's manager arguing about his presence and how he was a distraction to Mimi's concentration. Mark wasn't sure what had happened next, for he was peeking over a file folder so as not to get caught snooping and Mimi was yelling incoherent words in Spanish, but the next thing he knew was that he caught Mimi's eyes and she flashed a smirk and waved. Deciding not to get into the middle of anything, figuring he'd lose an argument with her anyway, he smiled back before going back to his paperwork.

_Immunization records, birth certificate, social security card, identification, and proof of residency…_

_Proof of residency? Shit._

There wasn't much Mark could do on that part of his daughter's enrollment form. True he did _live_ above the unfinished gallery, but would that technically count as a place or residency? Or, at least, count enough that Paige could get into the preschool? In their mind they did have a concrete place to send mail to and it showed that they lived close to the school but…still…once the school actually started up in January would they still be living there or would they be hotel-hopping again?

_Think, Cohen_, Mark told himself, sipping his tea. _There's still Mimi's offer-_

Could that work out, though? Could Mark, or more importantly Roger, stand living so close to each other after all their years of separation and the tension between them? Hell, Mark knew he didn't want Paige to be influenced by whatever happened between him and his ex-best friend. Besides, considering everything that had been going on since Mark's return to New York City there was a good chance everything would blow up in his face and he would, undoubtedly, say something he would regret.

_Who am I kidding? I'm always screwing everything up. Look at the damned situation I've got myself in now: Roger's pissed at me, Mimi's in the middle of everything, Maureen and Joanne don't know what to do, and Benny and Terry can only stand on the sidelines. What about Paige? I don't want to hurt her with all this shit. _Mark laughed bitterly to himself. _God, look at me now! It's been so long since these thoughts have come into my head!_

_Just forget it!_

Dropping his paper hastily, Mark removed his glasses and gingerly rested his face in his hands. Now was not a good time to get a headache; there was just too much to get done and not enough time to do it-

"No day but today, Mark."

Startled, the filmmaker lifted his face from his hands and found himself looking up at Mimi's blurry image. He put his glasses back on and cleared his throat. "What?" he questioned, embarrassed at being caught off guard.

"No day but today." Mimi repeated. "The expression on your face…it just looked like you needed to hear it. Was I right?"

_No day but today. _Mark sighed and smiled. "I thought I was the observer?"

"You can't observe yourself," Mimi said frankly. "It's your friends' job. My job." Mark shook his head; he was just happy to still be considered a friend in their bohemian group.

Mimi, on her lunch break, had ordered herself a cheeseburger and a small basket of fries, and also did the honor of ordering Mark a meal. She had complained that he was still too skinny for his own good and would need to be at least fifty times healthier if he planned to teach Paige good health, and, with that argument, Mark couldn't do anything but eat -not that he had any reason to complain. So for the next ten minutes the two old friends sat in a companionable silence eating their burgers.

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

Mimi's fingernails drummed peacefully on the tabletop, drawing Mark's eyes.

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

They sat in the back booth, but the sunlight has somehow found its way towards the back of the café.

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

Blue eyes glazed over behind black-rimmed glasses and suddenly Mark was mentally slapping himself and how slowly his mind worked. Of course many things would've changed while he was in LA- his absence didn't mean New York City just stopped living. Still, how could such a big piece of information slip from his mind so casually?

_Paige had very slowly come out from behind Mark's legs and stared up at Mimi with large blue eyes. She wrung her hands behind her back and smiled shyly. "Hi, I'm Paige. What's your name?"_

"_What a pretty name." Mimi knelt down to face Page eye-to-eye and smiled widely. "I'm Maria Marquez-Davis, but you can call me Mimi."_

Mark blinked. How could he have missed it?

_Mimi opened her mouth to reply but was quickly cut off by a shout of her name, "Davis!" Both bohemians turned around in time to see a large tan woman standing in the kitchen window wearing a very smug frown on her face._

The jewelry on Mimi's skinny ring finger was hard to miss once the sun's rays hit the shell and reflected out right towards Mark's eyes, the bright light expanding once it his glasses. He must've been staring for too long, because he was brought from his stupor when Mimi cleared her throat loudly. Mark looked up and met her curious eyes. "Sorry," he said. "Were you saying something?"

Mimi looked concerned. "I called your name at least five times. Are you all right?"

"Your," Mark gulped, "…your ring. I never congrat- didn't notice…" he saw her amused smile and promptly blushed. "Sorry. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"No," Mimi said bluntly, "but I know what you mean." She held her hand out, pride on her face, and positively beamed as Mark marveled at the ring decorating her finger. "Roger, obviously. He said it was a special ring, a ring of-"

"Trust, love, and eternal friendship," Mark finished.

"Yeah." Mimi nodded, retracting her arm. "How'd you know?"

"After Roger got back from Santa Fe, before we found you, he and I went to the store and he bought that ring. He hid it in his sock drawer for so long, though, I never knew if he was ever going to finally suck it up and ask you. I guess after that Christmas Eve, when you came back, I forgot about all that shit-"

"Hey." Mimi took his hand and massaged his knuckles. "You don't have to explain it to me. I understand."

Mark smiled. "So? When did it happen?"

"1995, January 1st." Mimi smiled also. "That's when we got married. He had proposed on Christmas Eve and we went to the church and did it. No big ceremony, no friends with us; just these two guys we got off the street to be our witnesses. Neither of us wanted a big thing anyway, after saying _No day but today _all this time why would we want to waste months planning a thing that was over in an hour?"

Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Always on the fast track." He watched curiously as Mimi continued to massage his knuckles, her eyes avoiding his and looking at the table…or, something on the table. "Meems?" He raised their linked hands to grab her attention and raised an eyebrow curiously. "What is it?"

"May I ask?" she whispered, gesturing to the silver band on his own finger. Mimi tilted her head back up cautiously to look Mark in the eyes and squirmed under his gaze. "I mean…I'll understand if you think it's none of my business or if it's just too _hard_ to talk about-" She stopped and shook her head, blinking slowly. "Sorry. I don't want to be nosey." She gave a small laugh. "Look at me, now I'm rambling."

"No…" Mark paused and gulped down whatever had suddenly lodged in his throat. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about to ask, especially since I asked you about yours."

Mimi chewed her lip. "This is different, Mark."

There was that look again. That look of complete sympathy and understanding. It was that look that had first brought Mark to leave Los Angeles, those so-called friends and neighbors looking at him and treating him like a fragile piece of glass that would break with just one comment about the whole thing. What they didn't know was that it got better after talking about it. Damn the therapeutic clichés, but it did help.

"You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Mimi's voice cut through Mark's thoughts. Her whisper brought Mark's eyes to her and he noticed that he hadn't responded. "Sorry," she repeated, pulling her hand back under the table. She averted her eyes and frowned.

"No." Mark shook his head, his voice causing her to snap her head back up. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I just-"

"You're not being nosey. Curious, maybe, but you have the right to be." Mark shook his head again. "I should've called-"

"Hey," Mimi took his hand again. "It's all right. You don't have to explain yourself."

"Yes I do. Just…not now." Mark mentally added, _I need to clear the air with Roger first,_ and Mimi seemed to understand. Grabbing her other hand with his own, Mark cleared his throat and questioned, "What do you want to know about her?"

Mimi pursed her lips, thinking. "Her name. Let's start with that. You said it before…Audrey?"

"Audrey Ram-Cohen," Mark confirmed. "Paige has her middle name, but it was mainly because Audrey was my Audrey's great-great-great-grandmother."

"Wow. Okay…um, you said she was a photographer?" Mimi smiled. "So like you to fall for a photographer."

Mark could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, more freestyle than anything, but she loved landscapes and people. That's what the gallery is going to open up solely as, a sort of memorial, but she had always talked about wanting to open one up. Terry and I are going to have it open to the bohemian artists, some money required, but it'll be like all the aspiring young kids who come here."

Mimi nodded, impressed. "Yeah. Like us?" Mark nodded. "All right…well…what else? What was she like?"

"What?"

"Come on, Mark." She smiled softly. "It's one thing to ask you individual questions, but it's another to ask you what she was like. To you, in your own perspective."

Mark closed his eyes, the image of his wife coming clear across his mind. "She was amazing; her smile would light up the room. We met the week after I got in to LA– ran into each other, literally, and she broke my camera; after that we were, like, hooked at the hip. A year later, December 31, 1992, we married. Audrey was so carefree, we clicked so well together that I didn't have any doubts about our relationship. She had a vanilla scent, you could smell it from miles away, and it was one-of-a-kind. She had shimmering brown eyes and brown hair, the same hair as Paige's. Everything about her was perfect…" Mark's voice trailed off. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for his blurred eyes to become clear again.

"Sounds like a sweetheart," Mimi whispered. "She really took care of you, didn't she?"

"She was my everything." Mark nodded. "When I got to LA I didn't know anybody, and we became the best of friends. A year after we got married we had Paige." He ruffled through his pocket and pulled out his leather wallet. "Here." he pulled a crumbled white photo from one of the pockets. "That's her." It was a picture of Mark and Audrey with their arms around each other, standing in front of a sunset at a beach. "This was on our honeymoon in Hawaii, a one week thing courtesy of Terry."

Mimi studied the picture carefully before looking up with glazed eyes. "There's nothing I can say, is there?"

Mark shook his head. "You don't have to, Meems. I've been here nearly five days and you've already shown me so much kindness."

"Yeah?" Mimi blushed. She handed back the picture and Mark carefully tucked it back into his wallet and away into his pocket. "Well, out of all the people here, you deserve it most."

Somehow, after such a small statement, Mark truly believed Mimi knew and, more importantly, understood why he had left.

And, hell, that was all he could ask for.

_Besides, Cohen, Roger still hates you and the guilt is still eating away at you._

Nothing could ease that much pain in only five days.

"Awww!" Mimi cooed, jolting Mark from his thoughts. "Look at that! I think you've got company."

Mark followed Mimi's finger until his whole head turned to look towards the large glass windows of the Life Café where, behind the sign _buy two muffins get the second half off_, Paige waved from outside. She held the black Labrador, Musetta, close to her chest while the dog's dark blue leash hung down onto the cement. Behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder, Benny stood at the window with Terry, waving along with the little girl.

Mimi giggled. "Benny babysitting?"

"As much as I trust Benny," Mark laughed, "I wouldn't leave my daughter with just him. He and Terry watched her while I worked on the gallery and did paperwork for Paige's enrollment."

"Shit. It's only 1PM, Mark. What else do you do besides work?"

"Sleep and, sometimes, eat." Mark replied, completely serious. "Once we get settled, everything will calm down. Don't worry about me."

Still, Mimi couldn't help but worry. Just a few seconds ago Mark had poured his heart out about his late wife and now he was gathering all of his things into his messenger bag to take care of his daughter. "You do so much," she complained.

Mark frowned and insisted, "It will settle down."

"You'll be at the bar tonight?" Mimi questioned, standing also.

"You know I won't-"

She shook her head. "You don't have to drink. Everybody knows you don't, and I'll tell Roger. You said Terry can watch Paige, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Please?"

The pout was back; Mark couldn't help but laugh. "All right. Okay?"

Mimi smiled triumphantly. "Good! Benny's coming too, I left a message on his machine. Seven o'clock all right?"

"Yeah. What's the name of the place?"

"3 Scratches." Mark blinked and Mimi explained, rolling her eyes, "They think the building is cursed, this is the fourth _bar_ they're putting up so… I don't know, it's corny."

"So long as it's warm and has water." Mark shrugged. He leaned into hug Mimi and whispered into her ear, "Thanks."

"No problem." Mimi whispered back.

They pulled out of the hug slowly, holding each other with the same intensity that they had when Mark left New York. Each held the other's gaze before giving each other a small nod and parting ways, but not before Mark slipped a $20 bill for a $15 bill. Fortunately Mimi didn't see the slip of his hand and had moved on to wait on another table as he slipped out the door to meet Benny and Terry. When he exited the Life Café Paige was still waving inside, trying to catch Mimi's eye.

"Mimi! Mimi!" She called happily, bouncing on the balls of her feet. In her arms, Musetta barked happily. "Mimi!"

"Sweetie," Mark knelt down beside his daughter, "Mimi's working. You can see her tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Paige pouted, sounding as if tomorrow was five years from then. "Why _tomorrow_? Besides, Daddy, I can _see _her right now!" Behind Paige, Benny gave a snort of laughter. "It's true!" Paige frowned. "Daddy? I don't get it!"

Mark couldn't help but laugh at her innocence. "It's nothing, sweetie. I'll explain later." He turned to look towards Benny and Terry and nodded in greeting. "I hate to be a bother but wasn't-"

"I know!" Terry exclaimed with a frown. "I mean, it's the day _after Christmas _for crying out loud!" She attempted to keep her language clean around the five-year-old in their presence. "My boss called me and she wants me to go down and help this jack….erm, Jack…" Terry blushed, noticing Paige's eyes on her. "She told me to help _Jack_ settled his bills. I can't get out of it."

Benny said, "I've got work in fifteen minutes, man. I'd love to help if I could."

_Blunt as usual Benny._

"Don't worry about it." Mark smiled. "I appreciate you both watching her this morning."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Terry questioned. "I mean, you've probably still got a lot to do…"

"It's no problem. Really. I got a lot of things done this morning." Mark smiled. "You two go on."

Benny nodded and pulled Terry's arm gently towards his old Range Rover. It was amazing he still had the damned car. "Come on, baby." he said gently. "It's Mark we're talking about…"

"Right."

"Wait-" Mark opened his mouth to say more but Benny and Terry had already loaded into the car. He narrowed his eyes at them and frowned as they laughed at the expression on his face. Deciding it useless to ask, Mark instead turned to Terry and questioned, "You still going to watch Paige at seven?"

"Mm-hmm." Terry nodded. "Benny will drop me off at the gallery and I'll watch Paige there until you two get home."

"Joy." Benny rolled his eyes. "A curfew."

Mark just smiled. "Okay, great, thanks. I'll see you later."

"Bye," the couple chorused as one. Finally, Benny pulled away from their parking spot and moved into the afternoon traffic. He held a hand out his window to wave goodbye before stepping on the gas and driving out of sight.

"Daddy! Look, Daddy!" Paige cried suddenly, drawing Mark's attention back to his daughter. She was hopping higher and higher now, arms clutching Musetta tightly against her tiny chest. She looked to Mark with wide, excited eyes. "Look!" she cried, "Mimi saw me!"

Mark looked through the Life Café window and found Mimi smiling back. He waved to her and laughed.

"How come we can't go in?" Paige pouted. "I wanna talk to Mimi."

Mark knelt down in front of his daughter, a faint smile on his face. He moved his now-gloved hands to tighten her winter coat tighter around her small body and straightened her scarf and black wool cap -the wool cap that looked like Collins'. "We can see her tomorrow, sweetie. All right?"

Paige's lip trembled. "But-"

"_Paige_…" Mark warned, his tone deliberately containing frustration that Paige could easily pick up. His daughter was far from disobedient, but that didn't mean there were still times that she couldn't take _no_ for an answer. Heck, she was only five-years-old. "If you keep up this we won't see her until the _next_ day."

"_Next day?_" Paige gasped. The filmmaker gently took Musetta from his daughter's arms and allowed the dog the freedom to walk around the sidewalk while he held the leash with one hand and his daughter's hand with the other. They walked along the New York sidewalk, but Paige was still complaining. "_Daddy!_"

"Do you want to make it the day after next?" Mark raised an eyebrow. He knew he was being harsh– there was no way he'd deprive his daughter of Mimi's presence– but still, Paige had to learn. He felt a tug on his hand where Paige had stopped and once again knelt down next to her. "Sweetie?"

"'M sorry Daddy." Paige mumbled. A finger went to her mouth and her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. Mark frowned, not wanting to overly upset his daughter. He placed a gentle hand on her cheek and moved her head so that her blue eyes were looking into his own. Paige complied easily and with one look into her daddy's eyes she easily collapsed into his arms. She sniffled. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be bad!"

Standing up with his daughter in his arms, making sure to keep a steady hand on Musetta's leash, Mark used his other hand to pat Paige's back reassuringly. "You weren't bad, sweetie. I just don't want you to fight with me."

"I won't Daddy," Paige said, pulling away from Mark's shoulder to look him in the eyes. "Never ever."

Starting to walk again, Mark said, "You can't go through life without fighting with me."

Paige was curious. "Why not? I said I wouldn't."

"We won't agree on everything. Sometimes I'll make you angry and other times you'll make me angry," Mark explained. "There is no _perfect_ way to go about things, we can't avoid fights all the time."

"Like before?" Paige questioned, still sniffling. "That was a fight, right?"

"Yup." Mark nodded. "It's something that'll happen in the future, but we'll get through them. I'll explain later."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Why are there so many things that you have to explain?"

"Because there's a lot of a things in this world that you haven't come across yet, and it's my job as a parent to teach you everything I know so that when you leave you'll be prepared for what life has to throw at you."

"Oh…" Paige looked thoroughly confused.

Mark chuckled. "You'll understand when you get older." He switched gears and placed his daughter back on the cement, taking her hand. "What'd you do with Aunt Terry and Uncle Benny today?"

"Lots of things!" Paige exclaimed happily, previous conversation and argument forgotten. "Aunt Terry took me to Kahles!"

"_Kohl's_?" Mark corrected, tugging Musetta away from the street.

"That's what I said." Paige nodded. "She took me there and we went _shopping_," she exclaimed, eyes widening with excitement. "Aunt Terry bought me sweaters, shirts, socks, and other stuff like that."

"She bought you clothes?" Mark questioned. _Shit Terry, is this your idea of charity?_ "How much?"

"A lot!" Paige said unhelpfully, not that Mark had expected a more specific answer. "You didn't even notice my new boots! Aunt Terry said you probably wouldn't, she was telling Uncle Benny how you wouldn't notice and it would be all right to get them." She looked up suddenly. "What'd they mean?"

_They meant I wouldn't notice right away and complain about them spending money on you. _Mark thought, but instead said, "Nothing."

Paige shrugged it off and went back to her boots, clicking her heels together. "I wanted white but Uncle Benny said they'd get dirty too fast and you'd have to clean them a lot, so I asked what color you can't get too dirty and Uncle Benny said black. They look like my old ones but they fit tons better! See Daddy? They don't got those holes in the bottom." She lifted her foot. "See?"

_Ruff! Ruff!_ Musetta barked excitedly and licked the bottom of Paige's boot.

Paige giggled and repeated, "See Daddy?"

"Uh-huh." Mark nodded, smiling at his daughter's enthusiasm. "What about your other stuff? Did Aunt Terry and Uncle Benny drop that off at the gallery?" He pointed to the desired building.

Paige nodded and grinned. "I put all my things away too!"

"Did you?" Mark placed a hand on top of her hair. "Well, good, sweetie. Thank you. Is it all neat and put away in the drawers I showed you?"

"Yeah. Uncle Benny helped me fold."

Trying to push the image from his mind, Mark stifled a laugh. "Did he?"

"He made me breakfast too." Paige smiled. "Cinnamon toast."

"What about lunch?" Mark questioned. "Did you eat lunch?"

"No." Paige frowned. She looked to Mark, as if suddenly noticing, "I'm hungry. Can I eat?" She held her stomach dramatically and waited by the doors of the gallery they had finally reached.

"Sure, sweetie." He knew the stove worked well enough to boil some water for soup. Mark unlocked the door of the gallery and pushed it open for Paige to walk through before turning around and locking it behind them. He gestured for her to come towards him and quickly took off her scarf and jacket and hung it on the coat rack. "Can you hold Musetta, sweetie?"

"'Kay!" Paige held her arms out and allowed Mark to place the dog in her arms.

Mark took off his own scarf and coat and removed his camera and messenger bag from around his shoulders. He knelt back down and carefully unclasped Musetta' leash from her collar. "There we go," he said, taking Musetta from Paige's arms and placing her onto the slick tile floor of the gallery.

"Now can I eat?"

"All right." Mark nodded, content, and stood. He guided Paige and Musetta up the stairs towards their makeshift kitchen. "Do you remember the Ramen I gave you a few days ago, sweetie? It was right before we left Los Angeles and boarded the plane."

"The noodles?" Paige nodded. "Yeah! Ooohhh! Do I get that?"

"Is that what you want?" Mark smiled as Paige nodded enthusiastically. "All right. It's going to take fifteen minutes. Can you wait a while for me to get it cooked?"

Paige nodded, this time a bit more calmly. "Can I play my guitar until it's done?"

"It should be under your bed in the case, sweetie-" Mark had barely nodded, before Paige disappeared into her room and the sound of random notes hit the air.

**December 1991, 8:04 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

_Mark stumbled over the various piles of clutter lining the staircase as he climbed the last few flights of steps towards his home. Behind him he dragged his black bicycle. It had been Roger's turn to go out to the food emporium but the musician had been at the hospital all night and had looked so tired that Mark didn't have the heart to wake him. Roger was likely to forget, anyway, in favor of going right back to the hospital as soon as he woke. To Roger, Mimi came first._

_Plunk. Plunk. Plunk._

_Mark set his bike down next to him on the landing, wiped the sweat from his brow, and carefully shook his keychain until the correct silver one caught his eye. He never bothered to knock anymore; nobody was ever home. This time, however, Mark was pleasantly surprised to hear the random chords of Roger's guitar chime through the air. He froze, though, as he realized what his roommate was playing. The key stopped in the unlocked whole, the camera bag slid a few inches down his shoulders, and the grocery bags slipped from his hand as the sweet melody of "Your Eyes" drifted through the door. It had only been four days since Christmas Eve, but it seemed like forever ago, and the memories of that day and the ones before it rushed over him in a flood with the notes of Roger's song._

_Mark remembered the feeling of Angel's death looming over the remaining bohemians, he remembered the sorrowful Thomas Collins drinking his Stoli in utter silence as he rang off the "secret" code to the ATM machine, he remembered Roger's foul mood, the tears the musician cried when Maureen and Joanne came in with Mimi. He remembered the feeling of total uselessness as they all stood around the metal table, thinking they were about to lose one of their number. Where was Mark in all this? How had he helped? What did he do?_

_A fuckin' film._

_Sure his friends had dubbed it a masterful film when they first saw it, but the softest critics are always your friends and families. To Mark, his friends were his family. Still, with all the emotion riding on that day how could he have taken any of their kind words to heart? They hadn't even remembered the film until Mimi was finally taken to the hospital._

Shit,_ Mark thought to himself, _how selfish can I get?

"_Mark?"_

_Trapped in his thoughts, Mark hadn't realized Roger had stopped singing until he was abruptly thrown sideways by the opening of the metal door. His hand had been still clinging to the key, which was still in the keyhole, so he was awkwardly tossed to the side. He lay on his back, head aching and vision blurring._

"_Holy shit. Mark, are you all right?" Roger's face swam before Mark's vision. The musician knelt down and carefully tried to haul Mark into a more proper sitting position. "Shit man, what're you doing? I heard a bang outside the door and I thought somebody was trying to break in."_

_Mark nearly laughed. "Who would want to break into our shitty loft?"_

_Roger, realizing what he had said, chuckled. "Yeah. Whatever. What the hell were you doing?"_

"_Getting groceries."_

"_It's my turn isn't it?" He ran a hand through his brown hair. "I forgot."_

"_Just help me up, will you?"_

"_Oh. Yeah, sorry 'bout that." Roger easily hauled the thinner man up and wiped the dirt from his shoulders. He took hold of the grocery bags and wheeled Mark's bike into the loft to lean against the wall. Mark shut the door and Roger questioned, "Why didn't you remind me?"_

"_I was up already." Mark shrugged. "Besides, I thought you were going to go see Mimi."_

"_Visiting hours aren't until 8:30 AM for non-family members, and Mimi would kill me if I harassed her doctors and nurses again," Roger confessed with a slight chuckle. The memory of him nearly punching out a 50 year old nurse was still fresh in his mind. "What time did you get up? I was up thirty minutes ago, at seven, and you were gone."_

Couldn't sleep…_ Mark wanted to say. Instead he went with, "I got out of bed around six," not a total lie, "and I left about fifteen minutes after I got up."_

"_You were gone a long time." Roger laughed suddenly, pointing at the camera bag, "Were you filming again?"_

_Mark's smile was strained. "What else?"_

_Roger shrugged. "Don't know."_

_As soon as Mark had finished putting away the groceries, he took his perch on the windowsill and silently looked out at the snowy city streets. Not many cars were out on the icy roads and Mark spotted few homeless people wandering around near the trashcans, so he figured most people had taken shelter under stoops or in their houses. He nearly laughed at the thought as he shivered against the intense cold of the loft's air. Benny had been nicer to them since Roger called him about Mimi's hospitalization, but that didn't mean they had enough heat even with the man's help._

"_Cold?" his roommate questioned suddenly, strumming his guitar. Concerned green eyes looked at him. "You know there's an extra blanket in my room…"_

"_No, thanks." Mark shook his head. He tried to stop shivering and suppressed a cough, trying to discourage the unwanted attention. Giving a small smile, he said, "I'm fine."_

"_Sure." Roger stood and walked into his room._

_They both knew why Mark lied. It was obvious. Mark just thought Roger needed the blanket more._

"_Here," Roger said, coming back with the blanket and throwing it around his roommate. He gave a small squeeze to Mark's shoulders picking his guitar up and hopping gracefully back onto the metal table, sitting Indian-style on top. He said, "You need it more than I do. Look how thin your damned jacket is."_

_Mark averted his eyes and murmured a small thank you._

"_I took my AZT too," Roger said, his eyes on the other man. "You know…just in case you were wondering. Were you?"_

_Mark nodded._

"…'_cause you don't have to…" Roger continued, "Worry? Ya' know?"_

_Mark looked up, stunned at his friend's words. Never had Roger said that Mark didn't have to worry. There had been times that Roger told him to 'fuck off'' or 'butt out' and even 'stay the hell out of his business,' but never had he said anything about worrying. That kind of conversation had been unheard of since April died._

"…_I don't want you to worry." Roger was still talking. "There's enough people doing that."_

"_I'm not-"_

"_Yeah you do."_

"_I try not to, but-"_

"_Do you mind if I play?"_

_Without even waiting for an answer, Roger began playing Musetta's Waltz death music to Mark and his ears. Soon the filmmaker was drumming his fingers to the beat trying to keep his mind off the cold. He turned slightly in his seat so that his back was facing Roger, who was absorbed in his music anyway, and pulled a piece of paper from his messenger bag._

_It hadn't been difficult to buy the bus ticket–it hadn't even been expensive–but 'when' and 'how' were different issues entirely. He'd bought it the day after Christmas when he came to the conclusion that he couldn't take it, but he had yet to use it. Would it be easier on all of them if he left without a word, or should he tell his friends that he was going?_

_If he was even going…_

_Mark stuffed the paper back into his bag and leaned back against the wall behind him. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he wrapped the wool blanket tighter around his shoulders and let his eyes close. Musetta's Waltz floated through the air and, for the first time since hearing the song, Mark felt at peace with the music._

"_Is it making you sleepy?" Roger chuckled._

_The song cut off abruptly. It was odd hearing the song cut off in the middle. Mark had never really noticed before, but this time he had been listening closely and found it rather odd to hear the music just…stop. Stop…_

"_You all right?" Roger questioned. "You look tired."_

"_Keep playin'," Mark mumbled, oblivious to his roommate's concerned expression. "'S a good song…"_

_Without answering, Roger complied._

_And the song once again filled the air._

**December 27th, 2:20 PM, Eastern Standard Time**

"…and then Uncle Benny took the leash and he couldn't hold her still either! Aunt Terry said she's a rowdy doggie." Paige had one hand on the top of a sleeping Musetta's head and kept another hand on her silver fork. She carefully brought the fork to her mouth and chewed on the noodles, a large smiled plastering her face. "Then he slipped in the mud!"

"Paige," Mark warned, "don't talk with your mouth full. And don't touch Musetta while you're eating; you can pet her when you're done."

"Sorry Daddy," Paige said, unfazed by the scolding. She gulped down her noodles and removed her hand from Musetta's head, daintily placing it on the tabletop in front of her. Smiling, Mark leaned across the table and carefully took his daughter's chin in his hand, wiping her soup-covered mouth with a napkin. "_Daddy_…" she complained.

"Clean up, sweetie." Mark smiled, crumpling the napkin in his hand. "All right, now slow down. You don't want to choke, do you?"

"No." Paige shook her head, eyes widening. Gulping down her noodles more carefully, she continued, "Then Uncle Benny and Aunt Terry took me to the park and we played in the snow. It was pretty and I caught some with my tongue!"

"Did you?" Mark sipped his hot cocoa.

"Uh-huh!" Paige grinned happily, sucking down another noodle. "I made a snow angel and so did Aunt Terry! We weren't there for a long time but that's what we did the whole time."

The young girl's interest in snow angels had always fascinated Mark to no end. She had never been in the snow before to make a true snow angel but in LA, when it was autumn, they'd take a walk in the park and Paige would make an angel in the fallen leaves.

"…remember how I always have footprints in it though?" Paige pouted.

Mark nodded. "Yeah, I remember." And he did. Always when Paige made a snow angel, whenever she got out her feet would get imprinted into the bottom.

"Uncle Benny helped me! When I was done he told me to lie still in the snow and he picked me up off of the angel!" Paige grinned. "I didn't get any of my footprints on my angel's skirt this time."

"Oh, wow. I wish I could've been there."

"That's what Aunt Terry said! She had her camera though, like yours Daddy, but that small one that clicks still-pictures, not the moving-pictures." Paige pouted and questioned, "What's the difference?"

"My camera is a _video camera_, and it records movement. Like you said, moving pictures. The one Aunt Terry had, and the one your mommy used to use, was simply called a camera. It takes photographs, still pictures. It can't record movement."

"How come Mommy took still-pictures and you took moving-pictures?"

"Your Mommy wanted to preserve things as they are in still-life and I wanted to watch things over and over again. It's a complicated thing, you'll understand it a lot better once you get older."

"Okay." Paige shrugged. She hopped out of her seat and-

"Paige, wash your hands before you touch the dog," Mark warned from his position at the dining room table, watching as Paige's soup-covered hand stopped short of Musetta's head. "Now."

The young girl pouted at the demand but nevertheless complied as she hopped onto the small stepping-stool near the sink and stuck her hands under the water. Mark stood from the table and held a red washcloth, waiting for Paige to finish washing her hands with soap and water. She turned around and Mark bent down to dry her hands with the red cloth.

"Now can I?" she questioned as soon as he was done. "Please?"

"Yes, sweetie." Mark nodded, kissing her forehead. "Try not to wake her up, she's probably tired."

"I'll be quiet," Paige whispered. Her tiny hand came out and patted Musetta's head, stroking the puppy's ears delicately. Luckily Musetta did not move at the abrupt touch and continued to sleep. "See?"

Mark nodded. He took Paige's now-empty bowl and put it into the sink with the rest of the dishes. He rolled up his sleeves and squirted a few drops of soap onto a small sponge before turning on the water to fill the sink. He watched his daughter out of the corner of his eye as he did the dishes.

It was pleasing to him, as a father, to see the amusement in Paige's blue eyes as she lay on her stomach in front of Musetta just patting the dog's head without a care in the world. Mark smiled. He remembered that time, when every day was a new adventure; another day to explore the wondrous world around him and inspect every single detail life had to offer. Now that he thought about it, that was probably why he'd become a filmmaker. Of course, the reason deepened as his life progressed, but that had been the first reason for picking up a camera. Observing everything.

Mark turned away from the now-drying dishes. He took a few steps towards his messenger bag and carefully pulled out his camera. "December 27, 1998, 2:30 PM, Eastern Standard Time: Zoom in on Paige Audrey Cohen as she observes Musetta, her new puppy," he whispered, happy to see that Paige hadn't heard him. It was easier filming a person when they didn't know they were being filmed. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Audrey?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger sat on the wooden dining room table with his acoustic guitar cradled carefully in his lap, his fingers poised. He strummed two of the strings carefully and listened to the music they emitted before moving back up to tune it better. Strumming the strings a second time, he mentally nodded as he found the correct chord. The familiar tune of Musetta's Waltz was itching the tips of his fingers and quickly his favorite song overtook him and his guitar. The rock-rendition of the song was peaceful to Roger's ears; he smiled whenever he heard it.

He stopped playing when the door suddenly opened. It sounded odd, cutting the sound off in the middle. Roger rubbed his hands together to ease the tingling in his fingers as he looked up to see Mimi in the process of closing the large door. She wore her leopard skin hat and black jacket and was still dressed in her waitress outfit. The image made him smile; he'd been so proud of her when she quit her job at the Cat Scratch Club.

"What're you starin' at?"

Jolted from his thoughts, Roger shook his head slightly and focused his eyes just in time to see an amused Mimi stop in front of him. She tapped her foot against the wooden floor of the loft, hands rested on her hips in a businesslike manner.

Roger finally replied. "You."

"Oh…" Mimi rose onto the tip of her toes and kissed Roger's cheek. "Good."

"How was work?"

"I've had better days," she answered truthfully. She grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and unscrewed the cap before gulping down a healthy amount of water, grabbed a chair from the table and sat across from Roger, resting her feet on the tabletop.

"Your boss give you a hard time again?"

"Not really. She was a pain in the ass when I was talking to Mark-"

"Mark?" Roger looked up suddenly. "Why were you talking to Mark?"

"He came in for some tea." Mimi raised her eyebrows. "Is there a problem?"

_No. He's just a fuckin' sellout._ Roger gulped down his response before coughing and saying, "No." It was no use, and he knew it–Mimi had always been able to see through his facades. "What?" he questioned when she stared at him.

"You're still as pissed as before." she stated. "Why?"

"Goddamn it, Mimi, we've had this conversation already. Do you want to keep repeating it?"

"If you're going to keep going back to it, then yes." She glared. "Tonight we're going to the bar. Everybody, remember? After all these years without everybody we're all going to be in the same room again: Maureen, Joanne, Benny, Mark, me and you. Are you going to ruin that?"

Roger went back to playing Musetta's Waltz.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

_Beep._

"Mark? Are you there? If you're there, pick up, it's Mimi… All right, well, I guess you're not there right now. I just wanted to let you know that Roger should be fine tonight at the bar. I just-I know you worry, Mark. Don't. Not tonight, at least. Today you told me some personal things and I want to talk to you about some things too, of course, I'd rather talk face-to-face instead of on the phone. Maybe we can get together? I think you need it as much as I do. Well, tell me tonight if you got this message. You probably don't want to call the loft in case Roger picks up –not that he ever picks up the phone. We still have that "SPEAK" message. The one you and Roger recorded when you first moved into the loft? Yeah, it's still there. I don't know, maybe it's a sign. See? It'll get better."

_Beep. End of messages._


	6. Making a Stand

**Ch6: Making A Stand**

Never in Mark's whole life had a day crept past so slowly. It had been an excruciatingly long day, hours spent with a single black ballpoint pen in front of a mountain of paperwork, signing his name near every single "X" marked spot the official had assigned for him. Apparently it took a lot for a new student to get enrolled into preschool, including having to dig up all sorts of records and official documents. Of course, Mimi had turned out to be right; it was all too personal for Mark's liking. It didn't matter, though, because Mark would have done anything to get Paige into a good school. After finding every document that had been requested, he then walked from the East Village Elementary School to the Food Emporium for grocery shopping and then to the Life Café for lunch before he finally returned to the gallery with Paige, fresh from a round of babysitting from Benny and Terry, in tow.

The day, however, hadn't ended there. Mark had cooked up lunch for Paige, finished signing his documents, and attempted to get a few more chores done throughout the day and afternoon. Keeping busy had probably been a good thing, because he still had nearly a whole half-hour before he had to face up to his five Bohemian friends during dinner at a bar. So, keeping his mind off the conversations he would be forced to endure was a good thing, as was the day's moving along slowly.

Of course, then would come the time when he'd be at the bar… would time with his friends speed by or would it flow at an insufferably slow rate?

_Jeezus…_ Mark thought. _When did time with my friends start becoming more torture than pleasure?_

He shook his head; of course he knew the answer to that. _When I decided to up and leave for Los Angeles_.

He stood in front of the kitchen sink putting the now-clean dishes away, his head swimming with questions, his eyes glazing over with thoughts of painful conversations, and his throat burning from the mere thought of liquor. He thought of what his other friends were doing at that moment in time. Were they working, sitting, talking, kissing, hugging, walking…? The amount of actions became an endless list of verbs that brought his memories back to his eighth grade English class.

_Maureen and Joanne are either fighting or making up_, Mark decided. _They always did that, every single day, but somehow they kept their relationship working. That's probably why Maureen and I broke it off–we never really tried to stay together; it was just a friendship with sex. _He looked towards the clock in the kitchen. _Roger and Mimi could be taking their medicine now, or they might be cuddled up on the couch –always were joined at the hip, those two._

He wasn't exactly sure what Benny and Terry were doing. Possibly getting ready to pick him up, but he wasn't so sure. Their relationship was somewhat new, if Terry hadn't been lying, and it was hard to figure out how a relatively new couple got along. Besides, Terry was Mark's sister-in-law, and he was fairly sure he didn't want to know everything they were doing.

_Ruff! Ruff! Ruff!_

Mark bit his lip to keep from cursing as Musetta's black paws landed on his leg, causing him to stumble a few steps backwards into the kitchen cupboard and take a stronger hold on the glass he currently held in his hand. Stumbling upright, he threw the dishtowel over his shoulder and carefully maneuvered himself to put the glass in its proper place before he looked up and caught his daughter's playful gaze.

Paige simply giggled and ducked behind the couch, crouching low on the cushions so that she was peeking over the back. She poked her head up and placed her chin on the back of the sofa. "I thought we were gonna play, Daddy?"

"I can't right now, sweetie. Daddy's working."

"Working?" Paige cocked her head to the side. "Then where's your pen?"

"My pen?" Mark dried the last plate and put it away before washing his hands quickly and throwing the dishtowel into a bag of dirty laundry. He moved Musetta out of the kitchen and turned to sit down on the couch, moving Paige so she could sit in his lap. "What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Isn't that how you work?" she questioned innocently. "With a pen?"

Mark smiled, smoothing down her dark brown hair. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Well… whenever Aunt Terry has a pen and I ask her what she's doing she tells me that she's working. Plus, on my birthday, Aunt Terry took your pen away and told you to stop working!"

"Paige, were you listening in on us?" She looked away, and Mark shook his head. "What'd I tell you about that, sweetie?"

Paige frowned. "I shouldn't listen in on an _adult_ conversation. Sorry, Daddy."

He just sighed and decided to let it go. "Well, Paige, working is more than just doing something with a pen. It's when somebody does something that takes effort on that person's part to get something done. It's not always big, though, it can be something like…you playing your guitar."

"That's work?" Mark nodded, and Paige scrunched her nose up. "I thought that was _fun_?"

"Work can be fun."

"Oh…then how come Aunt Terry always looks like she's mad when she's doing her work?"

"Not all work is fun," Mark said, "That's how it is, though. Sometimes we have to do work because we _have _tonot because we _want _to. My doing the dishes," he gestured toward the now-empty dish rack, "that's not fun-"

"-but you have to do it?" Paige finished. "That's weird. I wish all work was fun."

He smiled. "So does the rest of the world, sweetie." He kissed the tip of her nose lightly before rising off the couch with her in his arms. "Aunt Terry should be here in a little while and you'll stay with her the rest of the night, all right?"

"Why can't I come with you?" Paige questioned, frowning. "I wanna see Uncle Roger too!"

"Roger and I have a lot to talk about. A lot of things that you don't need to hear…" Mark trailed off, for a moment before pushing on. "Besides, you'll have lots of fun with Aunt Terry. Maybe you can see everyone tomorrow. Sound good?"

Paige nodded. "Uncle Benny is _really _nice, Daddy. He played with me all day today and he showed me a different way to tie my shoes. He also taught me how to hold onto Musetta so she doesn't fall out of my arms or get away from her leash."

"You had fun today?"

"Uh-huh! Lots of fun!" she exclaimed, and then asked, "Are they gonna come back over again too?"

Mark smiled. It was hard to imagine Benny as being good with kids, but it was nice to know that he had eased off the businesslike-façade he had held up when meeting Paige in the gallery, and had sunken into the role of an uncle. It was good for Paige to have one more person in her life she could look up to, and Mark vowed never to take that away from her. Not after her mother had died when she was only three.

"I'm thinking they might watch after you a few more times," he finally said, after a pause. "Just until you start preschool and I find a job. How does that sound?"

Paige beamed and yelled out.

"Oh, yeah?" Mark arched an eyebrow and held his daughter out in front of him, swinging her around as he twirled from the living room into the kitchen, Musetta barking all the while. "You can't say they're more fun to be with your daddy, are they?"

"Maybe…" Paige giggled.

Mark grinned as he tossed her up and down, catching her effortlessly with strength he didn't even recall he had. Paige protested the flight for only a minute before she began to laugh uncontrollably, her huge smile telling him that she was enjoying his actions. It wasn't too long before he felt the stress in his back, but instead of stopping and resting, Mark carefully plopped Paige down on the couch and tickled her sides.

She just laughed and laughed and laughed…

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused her laughter to stop and her father's head to swivel up towards the staircase leading down into the gallery. He caught sight of a very amused Benny and Terry. Before he could ask how they got in, Terry slyly held up a spare key to the building. She had said earlier that she was going to make a spare for when she needed to check on the repairs, but Mark didn't know when she'd made the copy.

"Are we interrupting something?" Benny questioned, raising his eyebrows at the scene of father and daughter on the couch. He smiled as Paige immediately hopped up and jumped into his arms. "Hiya, squirt," he greeted her.

"Hiya, Uncle Benny," Paige all but mimicked. "Are you gonna stay with Aunt Terry?"

"Sorry, squirt, but I'm going with your daddy." He placed her down on her feet and ruffled her hair playfully. "I'll see you later, though, all right?"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Paige grinned before turning her attention to Terry. "Do I hafta go to bed now?"

Terry smiled while patting Musetta on the head. "Not yet." She looked to Mark and questioned, "Ten o'clock all right?"

"Not a minute later," he warned, moving to shrug on his black coat. "Don't give her any kind of sugar either, Terry."

"Calm down." She put her hands up in defense. "I hope you remember I've babysat before. You know…this _morning_."

Mark bit his lip; he'd never really had been separated from Paige at night before. "Just…listen to me on this." Terry, understanding his worry about leaving so late, nodded as he crouched down in front of his daughter. "Good night, Paige." He kissed her on the forehead. "I might not be back before you go to sleep, but I'll be there when you wake up. I'll even make you some chocolate chip pancakes, all right?"

"All right, Daddy." Paige's eyes sparkled at the mention of pancakes. "Love you!"

"I love you too." Mark kissed her again on the head and hugged her tightly, burying his head for a minute in her soft brown hair.

When he finally let go, he grabbed his keys from the kitchen table and stuffed them in his pocket before nodding to Benny, who kissed Terry on the cheek and promised to be back later that night. The two men made their way out of the gallery and climbed into the Range Rover parked outside, and Benny took off down the street.

"She's really fond of you," Mark said absently.

Benny, his eyes on the road, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Who?"

"Paige… Terry… both of em.'" Mark smirked. "Never knew you were such a kid-person."

"Well…she's not a bad kid. Paige, I mean." Benny shrugged, obviously unable to find the right words. "I was always the oldest kid growing up in my family, and I was expected to take care of my cousins. I guess I just never really thought about it. But it's been a long time since I've been around a kid."

Mark nodded his understanding. It was nice being this close to Benny again. Mark enjoyed the fact that he could talk to him and Benny wasn't afraid to share anything back. Honestly, it hadn't been as good since Benny, Roger, Mark, and Collins all lived in the loft together. Pre-Maureen, pre-April, pre-everything, just after Mark and Benny had moved to New York City

Suddenly, Benny spoke. "Mimi said this place was…what? A bar or something?"

"Yeah. It's called Three Scratches."

The other man frowned. "Sounds like some kind of jaunty club."

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," Mark reasoned, unsure himself. "Look. There it is."

Benny pulled to a stop at the side of the road and the duo climbed out, stopping to openly stare at the building in front of them. It wasn't quite as flashy as they had pictured it, but it was still something. A large blue neon sign hung above the wooden double doors stating _Three Scratches_.

"It can't be that bad," Benny repeated Mark's words, shaking his head. "Man…"

Mark chewed his bottom lip nervously. "Seven o'clock, right?"

Benny nodded. "A little bit after, actually, but we should be all right. It's not like they'd just ditch us."

Mark bit his lip from saying "Wouldn't they?" and instead chose to nod cautiously.

"Right." Benny nodded again. "Well…let's get this over with, shall we? After you." He gestured towards the door.

Taking a deep breath, the filmmaker tightened his hold on his messenger bag, which was holding his camera, and plunged into the crowd of early bar-goers. He pushed through the multitude of shoulders that jarred into his skinny body, vaguely listening for Benny behind him. Trying to take a minute to look around, he found himself looking at a _modernized _Cat Scratch Club –minus the dancing girls, of course. They had taken out the large dancer's stage and laid down flashing tiles for a dance floor. There was a stage setup similar to that of the Life Café, albeit a little bigger, near a small DJ station. The bartenders wore a black jeans and white shirts while the waitresses dressed in slim white blouses and black skirts going down to just above their knees.

Benny steered Mark to one end of the bar. "I talked to Joanne earlier on the phone; she said they usually sit at the same place on either end of the bar, whichever is free at the time."

"Productive."

"I guess." He shrugged. "It must mean they come here a lot –there they are."

Mark gulped. "Yup."

Benny squeezed his shoulders once more before catching the bohemians' attention. "Hey," he shouted, waving.

Mark moved to greet them, but suddenly found himself face-deep in brown hair.

"Mark!" Maureen latched her arms around his neck and buried her head in his shoulder. "There you are!"

"Maureen," he sighed, patting the diva's back, "I saw you just last night."

"I know," she whispered into his ear, "I just wanted to make sure you were actually here…"

He hugged her again before pulling away and offering her a small smile. Maureen acted like a diva so much that Mark sometimes forgot that she had her shining, emotional moments underneath all that tough skin. He tucked a piece of her brown hair behind her ear and smiled. "You straightened your hair? I thought you told me you hated it that way?"

Maureen grinned, happy to have somebody notice a difference in her usually-curly locks. "Yeah, well, I wanted to try something new." She twirled around quickly before moving to hug Benny, who had just turned from greeting Mimi.

"Looks beautiful," Mark replied as he went to accept hugs from Mimi and Joanne. As he moved, he saw the remaining member of their group.

Roger stood off to the side with crossed arms and a fixed jaw. He didn't look too happy to be there, but he at least was keeping his mouth shut. He simply shrugged when Mimi glared at him.

"Come on," she nodded, "we've got a table set up. Sit down!" They sat, Benny, Mark and Mimi on one side and Joanne, Maureen and Roger on the other. Mimi handed Benny a beer bottle, which he gladly accepted, and shoved a water bottle into Mark's hand. "Is this fine?" she questioned. "I haven't seen you drink anything but tea and wine since you got here and they don't really have anything that I thought you'd like here. I can order you Coca-Cola or something instead-"

Mark cut her off with a laugh. "It's fine. Thanks."

She visibly sighed with relief. "No problem." She flashed her beer bottle and questioned, "Is it all right that we've got liquor?"

"Doesn't bother me."

"So, you've completely shunned off _all _forms of liquor?"

Mark turned and was surprised to find Roger addressing him, a questioning look on his face.

"Roger!" Mimi reprimanded with a glare. "Isn't that a little inappropriate?"

"No…no," Mark said, shaking his head. He didn't mind Roger's asking awkward questions if it meant that the musician had stopped ignoring him. He turned and said, "I still drink wine, but not all the time." He shrugged. "A year or two ago I tried to drink beer again, but it was like I'd lost the taste of it, so I ended up just throwing it all up-"

"Mark," Joanne gulped her beer and shot him a disgusted look. "Please…"

"Oh. Sorry, Jo." Mark smirked, taking a sip of his own water. Mimi poked him in the side, and he turned. "Something wrong?"

She leaned up and whispered, "Did you get my message?"

"Oh…um, yeah, I did." Mark nodded. "We'll set up a lunch later, all right? Just you and me."

"Thanks." Mimi smiled. "I told you everything would be fine."

"Yeah, well, the night's still young."

"Don't think like that."

"You know," Benny put in from Mark's other side, "it's rude to whisper." Mimi blushed. Mark gave a rueful smile.

"What were you two talking about?" Maureen questioned curiously. "Care to share?"

Roger regarded them with a suspicious glare.

"Oh…stop staring, Roger!" Mimi giggled. "I was just asking about Paige."

_Good ol' Mimi's real fast on her feet, _Mark thought, chuckling to himself. The rest of his friends actually looked interested, though, which was a pleasant surprise. "Really good, actually. She wanted to see you all." He grinned. "Right now she's at the gallery with Terry. Should be in bed now…" he checked his watch and nodded, resisting the urge to go call Terry from a payphone.

Joanne smirked. "I've seen that look."

"What look?"

"That one. Even I know that," Benny winked. "Parental instincts and shit like that. Can't handle your kid with another adult?"

"It's your girlfriend. What do you think?"

"Point taken." He raised his glass to Mark. "Terry can be…_intense _sometimes."

"Terry…" Maureen furrowed her eyebrows. "Oh! You mean Benny's booty!"

Benny spat out his beer as everyone burst out laughing. "She is not _my booty_,," he muttered.

"She said you've been going out for three weeks," Mark said. Terry had felt like a sibling to him ever since they'd met, even before she actually became his sister-in-law. They'd known each other since their Brown days and he felt the need to be protective of her, even from a usually nice guy like Benny Coffin.

"Uh-huh." Benny smiled. "A month next Tuesday, actually."

"A month," Roger said, throwing in his own two cents. "I don't remember any relationship lasting that long."

"What about Allison?" Joanne questioned. "They were married, weren't they?"

Mark laughed. "Benny only dated _Muffy_ for a week before they eloped."

"_Eloped_?" Mimi's eyes widened. "Why have I not heard this?"

Benny chuckled nervously. "It was nothing…really…"

"Nothing!" Roger scoffed. "Collins swore he saw the two of you coming out of St. Anthony's Chapel drunk!"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. That's why we didn't hear from Benny for three days!"

"Came back with a ring-"

"-left with a suitcase."

"Said we were golden-"

"-and came back later demanding for rent."

"What is this?" Benny frowned, sipping his beer and slumping tiredly onto the table. "Rag-On-Benny Day?"

Mark and Roger's banter trailed off and they exchanged a glance.

Mimi smirked as she patted Benny's back.

Maureen positively beamed, shaking Joanne's arm, who let her despite the numbing affect.

"Um…" Mark scratched the back of his neck, quickly averting his gaze. "Yeah…yeah, it's something like that, Benny."

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

The two beepers broke the uncomfortable silence rapidly forming between Mark and Roger. Heads swiveled in the direction of Mimi and Roger; the couple exchanged a short glance before Mimi pulled a plastic baggie with four pills from her purse. "Just in case," she said, waving the baggie in Mark's face, "we meet somebody on the street and they take our things. We have the full bottles at home, though."

Mark merely nodded wearily. "Zidovudine…" he whispered, causing the others to stare. Roger, though, didn't even bat an eye as he swallowed his two pills with a glass of water.

"What?" Benny questioned, breaking the silence that had descended. "Zidovudine?"

"The pill," Mimi explained. "That's the pill we took."

"Oh…oh!" Benny nodded. "I remembered hearing that on the news. The new triple-cocktail treatment."

Maureen frowned. "How'd you know about it, Marky?"

"I kept up with the treatments," he said. "I told you that. Remember?"

"Didn't think you mean it," he heard Maureen mutter under her breath as she sipped her beer; a moment later, however, she winced sharply as Joanne's foot connected with her leg.

"_Maureen!_" she hissed.

Mark couldn't help but smile; he hadn't realized how much he missed Maureen and Joanne's antics. "It's all right, really." He nodded to Joanne, who regarded him warily in response. "I heard about Zidovudine the most, though, it's supposed to be a sort-of AZT substitute –stronger and shit."

"That's right." Roger nodded. "The doctors said AZT wasn't working anymore."

"Huh…" Mimi said, licking her lips. "Well… I'm going to…erm, Benny!" she called suddenly, slamming her bottle down and rising from her seat. He looked at her questioningly, and she shot him a look. "Want to dance?"

"Dance?" Benny gulped down whatever was stuck in his throat. "All right…sure. You don't mind, do you, Davis?"

Roger shrugged in response.

"Come on, Pookie!" Maureen said suddenly. "Let's dance too!"

If no one had been looking, they wouldn't have noticed the glint in Maureen's dark brown eyes as she hopped up from the table and dragged Joanne over to the dance floor, the other woman obliging without a word.

Leaving Roger and Mark.

_Well… _Mark thought to himself, bathing in the awkward silence, _isn't this just a terrific predicament you've gotten yourself into, Cohen? Hell, if he hadn't acknowledged me earlier I'd say he still hated my guts. Still…maybe Mimi's right, maybe our friendship still does stand a chance._

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Benny obediently walked from the wooden table and led Mimi towards the flashy dance floor, Maureen and Joanne just a few steps in front of them. He stepped up to the floor and snaked his hands around Mimi's waist as she placed her petite hands around his neck. They swayed back and forth, not really trying to dance, while Maureen and Joanne twirled and twisted a few feet away. Two pairs of eyes instead looked towards the two men still sitting at the table.

"You planned this, didn't you?" Benny gestured towards Mark and Roger. "You planned this from the beginning."

Mimi smiled slyly. "Not from the beginning. How would I know that Maureen and Joanne would go dancing too? That's just good luck."

He shrugged slightly, smiling. "Maureen may be a drama queen most of the time, but she's not dumb. She can catch on quickly." He glowered suddenly and added, "Don't tell her I said that."

"Said what?" Mimi laughed when he grinned. "It's not so bad when you show your soft side, Benny. It looks good on you."

"Oh…please…" Benny rolled his eyes.

Mimi sighed and pressed her cheek against Benny's chest as they continued to sway to the music, which had slowed down considerably. "I wanted to get them together," she whispered, just loud enough that only he could hear her over the music. "I figured if they're alone just for a few minutes they can talk it over. Mark will tell Roger why he left and Roger might understand, but…"

"He's Roger," Benny finished.

"Exactly." Mimi nodded. "I heard what he was like when April died, I heard what he was like when I left, and I _saw _what he was like when Collins died. It takes a lot out of him and I just… I don't think-" She shook her head. "I don't know anymore…"

Benny pulled away and placed a finger underneath her chin. "Don't feel bad because you don't want Roger to get hurt. Roger is taking this hard because it was Mark who left. Not a girlfriend or any other friend, but _Mark. _They're like brothers. They were, anyway."

"It's weird, isn't it?" Maureen sashayed towards Benny and Mimi with Joanne in tow. "Seeing them like this, I mean…"

Joanne took Maureen's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

**November 1986**

"_Hey! Wait up, guys!"_

_Benny tossed his black scarf around his neck as he rushed down the steps two-at-a-time and finally caught up to friends, who were waiting outside the doors. He gave a wry smile as Mark and Roger shot him an "I told you so" look and slowed his pace to a slow walk as he moved towards Thomas Collins and fell into step with his friend as they continued their trek towards Tompkins Square Park._

_Initially, Benny had been against the idea of escaping the loft and moving out into the frigid, cold winter weather, but since everybody else was leaving he'd decided he might as well go too. It wasn't like he had anything else to do. Besides, maybe, because the loft's heat was off again, it would be warmer outside._

"_Why exactly are we going to the park?" he called out suddenly. "It's almost time for dinner. I got paid last night, we can have something at the Life. It'll be warmer too."_

_Roger said over his shoulder, "You can't always take the warm way out, Ben."_

"_We can get something when we're done." Mark turned and smiled. "If the offer still stands, that is."_

"_Of course." Benny nodded. "Just wondering why-"_

_Collins bumped Benny's shoulder, stopping the man's words. "Don't even attempt to try to read their minds."_

_Benny opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind when Collins simply shook his head and chuckled. The walk towards the park turned into a silent one,, except for the whirring of Mark's camera and his quiet narration into it. Every now and then Roger or Mark would laugh at something, but the two of them had gotten far enough ahead that Benny couldn't hear what they were saying. Brown eyes turned to Collins, but the professor just shook his head again, laughed, and grinned brightly._

_They made it to the park within minutes of leaving the loft. Along the way it had started to snow, which Benny hated but Mark and Roger obviously loved. Collins continued to chuckle._

"_Explain to me why they talk me into this," Benny grumbled._

"_Oh, calm down." Collins nodded his head towards a nearby bench. "Just let them have their fun." Benny sat down next to Collins, and Roger and Mark, without sparing them a glance, ran off towards the mini-playground, which was abandoned. Arching an eyebrow amusedly, Collins said, "They act like children most of the time, don't they?"_

"_Most of the time," Benny scoffed. "Try all the time." They laughed._

"_Hey!" They looked up to find Mark waving from his position in a tree, sitting on a branch. "What's up with you two?"_

_Roger grinned from a branch just underneath Mark. "I bet they're talking about us."_

"_Don't have such a big head, Davis!" Benny yelled back._

"_What the hell are you two doing?" Collins questioned amusedly. "You're gonna fall off, Roger, and I'm not going to carry you home just because of your bad back!"_

"_Bad back?" Roger laughed. "Who you saying has an old back, old man?"_

_Collins just rolled his eyes and Benny stifled a laugh._

_They looked at their friends in the tree and found that Roger had turned his back, looking towards Mark and saying something that made Mark laugh so hard that he had to hold onto the branch to keep from falling off._

"_Never seen him this happy."_

_Benny jumped, surprised at Collins' solemn voice. "What? Who?"_

"_Roger." Collins nodded his head towards the laughing musician and grinned. "He'd always smiled when he was around the Well Hungarians, always smirk when I told him something funny just to get a rise out of him, but I've never seen him genuinely happy like this. The only other time is when he's on stage singing…"_

"_Genuine." Benny smiled. "Kind of like with Mark."_

_Collins shrugged. "It was good you two decided to drop out of Brown."_

"_Heh," he chuckled. "The one good decision I have to make and it's to drop out of college."_

"_Irony is beautiful, isn't it?" Collins draped an arm over Benny's shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed hug, fully aware of to the other man's dislike for physical contact. This time, however, Benny didn't seem to mind. "You got a lot out of this too, you know?"_

_Benny smiled. It was his time to be genuinely happy too. "It's only been two months since we moved here…"_

"_Time has no limit with friendship. Forming or separating."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger drummed his fingers against the table. He leaned forward and rested his chin on a clenched fist. It had only been a few minutes since the others had left him alone with Mark, but it felt like hours had passed. The awkward silence was starting to take a toll on his mind and he would've given anything to be out of this uncomfortable situation.

_I'm gonna kill Mimi…_ he thought angrily. It was obvious she'd wanted to get him and Mark alone, it was just a matter of time as to when it would actually happen. He caught her eye while she was dancing with Benny, and she just shot him a glare and mouthed, "Talk to him" before turning away to dance.

Roger sighed, catching Mark's eye. If Mark wasn't going to make an attempt he might as well, or else it would be a long night. "So…is this how you thought it would go?"

The other man jumped, surprised at the sudden conversation. "Huh? Sorry…um, how _what_ would go?"

"You know…" Roger shrugged, "this conversation. I kind of imagined Mimi sitting in the middle forcing a heart-to-heart out of us while Maureen goes on about the world ending and shit like that."

"Really? I figured it'd be outside at night with you shoving my face in the cement."

Roger couldn't help but chuckle, not at what Mark said but how calmly he said it.

"I talked to Mimi today…"

Nodding, Roger said, "Yeah, I know. She told me."

"Oh…" Mark tugged on the end of his scarf. "We talked about a lot of things. I guess I should say congratulations." He pointed offhandedly to the ring decorating Roger's finger. "I can't believe I didn't notice until today."

Roger fingered the jewelry fondly. "Yeah…well, honestly, I thought this old thing would stay in the drawer for longer, but I had to go for it. Mimi'd been dropping hints of officially tying the knot and," he smiled at the memory, "well, Collins just flat out told me to ask her."

"Seems to have worked out."

"Yeah, it has." Roger sat up and took a sip from his beer. "What else did you talk about?" He was afraid to ask whether they'd talked about him and his reaction to the other man's return.

"I told her about Audrey, my wife." Mark said slowly, as if arguing with himself as to whether he should talk about it. "She was hesitant about asking, but…" he shrugged and trailed off, taking a sip from his water.

Roger gulped down the lump in his throat. _Just get to the point, Davis, _he told himself.

"Los Angeles, huh?"

_Oh yeah…that's _real_ smooth._

Mark just nodded.

"How long?"

Mark's head snapped up like the crack of a whip. "Excuse me?"

"How long were you planning on leaving?" _Breathe. Deep breaths. In and out. Just don't get angry. _"Was it before or after Christmas?" Mark's hold tightened on the water bottle and a bit of water squirted out. "Were you even going to tell us?" Roger saw red and he couldn't stop. "Remember that? I came home early from the Life and found you in the middle of packing. Was that when you planned on leaving? Not even saying-" He shook his head, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. "So…how long?"

"I…um, jeezus, Rog…" Mark ran a hand through his hair. He shrugged. "I do-don't know, really."

"How can you not know?" Roger all but pleaded.

Mark closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

"Did you know you would go to LA?"

Mark shook his head again. "I just left. I didn't know where to go. At first I went to Santa Fe, but then I remembered your saying it wasn't that great there…" He frowned. "I stayed there a day or two before I figured out what you meant. It was way too plain. Especially after coming out of New York. I ended up hopping from bus to bus until I didn't have any money left and I had to settle down-"

"You made it all the way to LA with your money?"

"Well…not exactly. You see, I ended up getting myself on without paying."

"How the hell did you manage that?"

"Cleaned busses during stops, bribed the guy, begged for money. I even smuggled myself on a few times."

Roger stared at him openly. He couldn't imagine Mark doing any of that. "You made it by, though."

"Yeah. I ran into Terry when I was in a photography gallery, trying to get a job, and she helped me out. I worked there for a while before I found something on the local news channel, KZTS at 9, and I made a few short documentaries. Nothing too big, but it paid well and they never made me report on something I hated like-"

"Like Buzzline did." Roger nodded absently.

"I got your CD a few years ago" Mark said suddenly. "You weren't with your band?"

Roger shook his head and took a sip of his beer. "I called them all, but they'd moved on."

"Oh…I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the musician said scornfully. "You left. You don't have the right to be sorry." Roger knew he was getting off track, but the small talk was getting ridiculous. The look on the other man's face made it clear that he knew Roger wasn't talking about the band anymore.

"I needed to leave."

"And I needed you here," Roger shot back.

"I _had _to leave." Mark frowned. "It was… I don't know…suffocating me… it was only meant to be a couple of months, like when you-"

Roger shook his head. "Don't even compare what I did to what you did. You were for gone seven years. _Seven years_!"

"You told me not to come back," Mark spat. "You told me to fuck off if I was going to turn into a sellout, that I might as well never come back because I would never be wanted again. I'd never be wanted, Roger? Those were you last words to me! How the hell does somebody come back after you say that?"

Roger recoiled from his own words coming back to bite him in the ass. "It's me, Mark! You know me! I say things that aren't true when I'm mad. You shouldn't have taken it so seriously."

"Well, it seems I should have taken it more seriously, the way you're treating me now. Like I don't even exist." Mark shook his head. "I'm telling you, Rog, you may not need me anymore but I've got somebody who does. The reason I never came back to New York was because I decided to move on and live my life! Sure as hell seems like you did a fine job too! But, Rog, don't think for a _second _that I stopped thinking about you, because I didn't!"

"You f-"

"_Roger_!" Mimi grabbed his arm and pulled him from his seat. She glared and said forcefully, "Please, love, not now…just, please…" She looked to Mark. "I don't want-"

Mark shook his head, mumbling, "I'm sorry this didn't turn out right."

Roger nodded curtly. "Same here."

They locked gazes and in the few passing seconds that blue eyes were centered on green Roger felt they made progress.

Even if it was just a little bit from a short conversation.

"Here," Benny shrugged on his coat, "we should probably get going. You've got Paige and I've got Terry…"

Mark nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

They nodded their goodbyes and made their way out the door.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

This time there was no need for Mimi to yell at Roger for coming down so hard on Mark because, whether they liked it or not, the confrontation had always been inevitable. It might as well have been now.

Maureen appeared next to Mimi. "He said he got a CD?"

Roger frowned. "You listened in?"

"You were yelling," Joanne pointed out.

Maureen shook her head. "Mark has one of your CDs. The album you have out right now…?"

"I only have one, Maureen." Roger threw a wad of bills on the table, paying the tab. "What's wrong?" he questioned, seeing the spark in her eyes. "So he has a CD. Who cares?"

"Roger…" Mimi tugged his sleeve. "Your CDs are only sold locally. He'd had to have been in New York to get one."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Mark dropped into in the passenger seat of the Range Rover and, moving stiffly, slammed his door shut and clicked his seatbelt into place. Next to him, Benny got in the car and started the ignition, but didn't move. "You all right?"

"What's it like?" Mark questioned.

"What's what like?"

"Drawing a line in the sand and making a stand."


	7. Separate and Merge

**Ch7: Separate and Merge**

**December 1987, 9:34 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

_Roger stopped mid-strum and rearranged his guitar in his lap, peering out the loft window with a curious eye. He watched various homeless people move out from underneath their newspaper-blankets and stretch in the morning sun, which had just peered through the clouds. Roger looked from his position sitting in the windowsill and found the top of Mark's head, Mark rustling through the cupboards. "Hey, Mark?!"_

"_Yeah?"_

_Roger questioned, "Do you ever wonder where all the kids are?"_

"_Kids?" Mark rose up from behind the kitchen counter and casually leaned against it, carefully placing out two packets of oatmeal in front of him for his and Roger's breakfast. He raised a brow at Roger's question. "What'd you mean? We saw some kid playing with a little soccer ball yesterday."_

"_At the park," Roger said, rolling his eyes. "I meant here, in the avenue or something. Downtown there's all these little kids playing basketball in the street and little girls jump roping on the sidewalk. There's nothing here though. I mean what about that elementary school down on 12th street? We never see anybody going over to school there."_

_Mark shrugged. "I don't know. Collins told me that's school is in pretty bad shape. Haven't you seen it? There's graffiti all over. Besides, this is a pretty bad neighborhood for kids to be running around the streets; I don't think many parents would want that." Mark poured the oatmeal into two bowls and shoved them into the new microwave which Mark got from his mom for Christmas. "What's it to you? We don't have any kids."_

"_No, really?" Roger gasped, laughing. "See and I thought little Timmy looked just like you!"_

"_Shut up." Mark threw a dishtowel at the bleached blond rocker. "Come on, what's with the sudden interest?"_

_Roger shrugged. "I don't know. Benny was telling me about his little cousin and when they were growing up together. Besides, I haven't really seen a kid outside playing since I dropped out of high school." Roger shook his head. "It'd be nice to see somebody outside without a care in the world."_

_Mark frowned. "That's a bit depressing, isn't it?"_

"_Maybe." Roger leaned his guitar near the windowsill and stood up, grabbing his leather jacket and cigarettes. "I'll be right back."_

"_Where are you going? I'm making breakfast."_

_Roger rolled his eyes. "I'm just gunna talk with April; she's on the roof smoking with Collins. We'll be down in a few."_

"_Fine, guess I'll make two more bowls."_

"_Thanks, Mommy." Roger mocked, opening the sliding door. "I just _love _your cooking."_

"_Hey," Mark stopped him before he could get out, "maybe in two or three years they'll fix up the school and we'll see some kids again."_

"_Yeah, when the homeless folks get to a shelter and the drug dealers get tossed in jail."_

"_Okay…Maybe ten or eleven years."_

**January 4, 1999, 7:25 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

All around him: Kids. It was a brightly colored mass of tiny bodies lugging around and being lugged around by various adults, their faces set and amused at one little person's curiosity. Yells of delight rang about all around Mark as he tightened his hold on his daughter, who was clinging to his leg like she would never let go, and his camera, which was safely cradled in his arms like a newborn baby. He looked down to Paige and flashed an encouraging smile, and was returned with a quivering lip. Patting her brown hair, Mark led her across East Village Elementary School's campus–making it slowly but safely–and carefully ushered her into the bustling front office.

Inside, six or seven fine dressed men and women were busily chatting on phones or writing on papers, only adding to the immense noise. Eyes using their skill of good perception, Mark checked each of the name tags on the individual desks and cautiously approached one particular brown-haired woman who looked to be in her early thirties. Paige resisted, but, with a stern glance from Mark, followed obediently, still clinging to his leg. Plastering on a faux smile, Mark caught her attention and showed her a few filled out forms.

"This is my daughter, Paige." He paused and gestured for Paige to greet the woman, but he could only get a small "hi" out of her. "I'm sorry, she's a bit nervous about her first day." Clearing his throat and rearranging his camera so it was hanging from his shoulder, Mark fixed his glasses and said, "I believe I spoke to you on the phone last night, my name is Mark Cohen. You are Mrs. Reeves?"

The brown-haired woman nodded suddenly and smiled brightly. "Right! Yes. Good morning, Mr. Cohen. As you can see we're very busy coming back from our winter break, but, if you don't mind waiting for a bit I can get to you in a few seconds."

"Sure, it's no problem."

Gently, Mrs. Reeves led Mark and Paige into her office near the back of the main office, promising again that she'd be back as soon as she could. With a kind smile, she shut the door and left.

"Here you go," Mark cooed gently, lifting Paige and sitting her in one of the huge blue arm chairs. He knelt before her and smiled, noticing her unease, "Is there something wrong, sweetie?"

Paige's lip continued to quiver and she whispered, "Are you going to leave me?"

"What?" Mark tilted his head, confused. "What'd you mean?"

"Those people out there," Paige explained innocently. "Those kids and their parents, some of them were crying because they were being separated." Her eyes glistened with tears and she wailed, "I don't wanna leave! Please don't leave me Daddy!"

Mark's heart ached, he hated seeing his daughter hurt. "Hey now," he held out his arms and Paige gently fell into his comforting embrace, burying her face into the crook of his neck. "You know I'd never leave you, right?" He felt her nod. "It's just school, sweetie, and a few hours of playing and learning and getting to meet all these new people." Mark smiled and gently held Paige out arm length from him. "Doesn't that sound fun?"

Paige shook her head and wiped her eye with her fist. "I wanna go home. Please? Daddy, I don't wanna stay here."

"Sweetie," Mark grabbed a tissue from the desk behind him and gently wiped the tears from his daughter's face. "It's going to be alright. I hear your teacher is very nice. You'll love school, Paige. I'll pick you up right at 12 p.m. and we'll have lunch together at the Life Café with Uncle Benny. How does that sound?"

"You promise?"

"I promise." Mark hugged her again and calmly let go. "Feel better now." Paige nodded. "Good, but, sweetie, you really need to stop being so shy when you meet somebody."

"Shy?" Paige questioned, confused. "You mean like Aunt Mo? I heard you and Mimi talking 'bout her being shy."

Mark laughed. He and Mimi were exaggerating about Maureen's playfulness. "Actually, no, it's the exact opposite of Maureen. When you're shy you're withdrawn and not yourself. Like when you were meeting Mrs. Reeves. You know how Aunt Mo is, Paige? Remember how happy she was when she first met you?" Paige nodded, smiling now. "That's what you need to do when you meet somebody. Just smile and introduce yourself, say your name and soon you'll be talking with somebody like you've known them your whole life. Like they're you're best friend."

"What's a best friend?"

"You have one best friend, sweetie, and you're set for life." Mark smirked. "A best friend is somebody who'll care for you no matter how you act and no matter what you do. Sometimes you'll fight and pretend you don't like each other, but you both know that's not true because, no matter what, you'll both be there for each other."

"Like you and Uncle Roger?" Paige questioned. "He's your best friend."

Mark froze for a split second, his mind reeling from the explanation he had just given, and slowly he nodded. "Yeah, Paige. Something like me and Uncle Roger–"

A clearing of the throat brought Mark's attention away from Paige and he looked up to find Mrs. Reeves standing just outside the door. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything Mr. Cohen, but we're ready for you now."

"Right. Thank you." He held his hand out to Paige and smiled. "Ready, sweetie?"

Paige, a bright new attitude gleaming in her eyes, nodded.

They were led down the now-empty halls of the small Elementary school by Mrs. Reeves as she pointed out various landmarks and significant classrooms that might by important in the near future. She showed Mark and Paige the trophy cases, the class pictures, the plaques and teacher certificates, stating how the school was one of the bests in the city. All the while Mark, smartly kept his camera, which was still hung over his shoulder, hidden under his arm and pointing at Paige's expression. All the fear seemed to vanish from the Paige's bright blue eyes as she took in her vast surroundings.

"…and here is your classroom," Mrs. Reeves told Paige. "This will be the place where you will go when you come here."

Paige peered through the glass in the window. "Daddy! Look at all the colors!"

Mark carefully picked her up for a better look, not wanting her to fall over from her tiptoe position, and smiled. It had been a long time since he'd seen a classroom. "See? You're going to have lots of fun."

"Ready?" Mrs. Reeves questioned. "I've told the teacher about your arrival and she's just waiting for you."

"Yes, just a second. Could I, umm…" He gestured to him and his daughter and, thankfully, Mrs. Reeves quickly took the hint and stepped a bit away so Mark could say goodbye. He carefully set Paige down on her own two feet and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his own. "Okay, sweetie, this is where you'll go in on your own." Paige nodded, not saying anything, but frowning slightly. "Don't forget, I'll be here at 12 p.m. and we'll meet Uncle Benny for lunch. Just have fun and be yourself and–"

Mark stumbled back and landed on his back end as Paige launched her tiny arms around his neck. He heard, from a few feet away, Mrs. Reeves stifle a tiny giggle, but he ignored her and gently patted Paige's back.

"I'll be here when you get out, sweetie. I promised, remember?"

"I know," Paige said. "I love you Daddy."

"I love you too."

Mark hugged her one last time and gently Mrs. Reeves ushered Paige into the classroom. Mark looked through the tiny window as Mrs. Reeves spoke to the teacher and the teacher spoke to Paige. He grinned as he saw Paige smile like he told her to. The teacher got the attention of the class and led Paige to one of the small round tables with a two little boys and a little girl. He watched as the little kids conversed and sighed, happy to see his daughter with people her own age. Quickly, however, he stepped back as Mrs. Reeves returned.

"Mrs. Sadler is one of the best teachers here," Mrs. Reeves said. "She'll be just fine, Mr. Cohen."

"It's Mark. Just Mark." Mark shuddered. "Mr. Cohen is a bit too formal."

Fortunately Mrs. Reeves smiled. "Well, Mark, than you can just call me Sandy." Her eyes brightened. "If there's anything you need, just ask."

"Actually," Mark questioned, "is there a certain place I can pick my daughter up after school?"

"Yes." They walked back to the front office and Sandy pointed to the blue bench near the front entrance. "Parents pick their kids up right here; the teacher watches them until the last parent comes. The children are not left alone when school ends until the appropriate parent or guardian is there."

"Thank you." He shook her hand. "I appreciate the help."

"It's no problem." Sandy shook her head and smiled. "It's nice to see such a healthy relationship between father and daughter."

Mark smiled.

Soon Mark found himself walking away from the school, one agonizing step at a time, continually looking back at the large red-bricked building expecting to see Paige burst out the doors begging to come home with him. Sure, it was a long shot, but Mark was pretty certain he would've hauled her back home with him if she had shown up. He was getting pretty antsy with leaving Paige by herself, albeit with a teacher, and he was close to postponing the little school trip until another day…or year…

A buzz in his pocket caused Mark to jump. He mumbled a curse and dug his hand in his jean pocket, looking for the source, and pulled out on those bulky cellular phones Terry had bought him for New Years, claiming he'd need it if he wanted to be reached at anytime for emergencies.

"What do you want Terry?" He questioned, figuring since the only other person who had his number was the school.

Scoffing on the other end caused Mark to laugh. "Glad to see such good phone manners, Cohen." Benny. Who else? He shouted to somebody on the other end, most likely Terry, "_Hey! He wants to know what you want!_" There was a muffled response on the other end and Benny said back, "_Honey, calm down, I don't think that's even possible._"

"Honey?" Mark questioned in disbelief. "You better watch it Benny."

"Oh relax, I was talking to Terry."

Mark laughed. "Glad to see you two getting so close."

"Whatever."

"What's up Benny? You called me?"

"Ummm, yeah…" he hesitated, "Are you busy?"

"No. I just dropped Paige off for her first day at preschool. Why? Is there something wrong?"

"Not _incredibly_…" Benny trailed off. "How far are you from the gallery?"

Mark looked up to study his surroundings. "I should be there in three minutes. I'm walking."

"Can you run?"

"Run?" Mark froze. "Alright Benny, what happened?"

"There might've been a bit of a problem here at the gallery…"

There was a scuffle on the other end of the line and Terry's voice came through loud and clear, "Mark you had better get your ass over here now!"

"What the hell happened?" Mark questioned, running now. "I was only gone fifteen minutes!"

Benny returned, "You know, man, a lot can happen in fifteen minutes."

Terry: "Those workers were checking the place out and something happened…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Rocks. Soot. Bricks. Smoke. Wood.

Debris all around. Mark couched from the gathering black soot in the air and waved a hand across his face as he walked around the mess that was once the front bar and the top floor above. It had appeared, obviously, that the floor had collapsed while the five contractors were inspecting the stableness of the building. To make a long story short, they found out the building wasn't very stable.

"Look at this mess!" Mark yelled. He turned to Terry and Benny, who were standing off to the side. "How much did the guy say this was going to cost?"

"Well…" Terry frowned. "If you want a second floor again it may take a lot more than we were initially planning, but, if you just want one floor than we'll probably be able to barter with the guy and get it down a bit for a reasonable price. Don't worry. We'll find a way to get enough money, easily."

"Don't worry?" Mark all but shouted. "Where the hell are me and Paige going to live now?!"

Benny suggested, "There's always Mimi's offer of her old apartment."

"Terrific." Mark held out his hand like a scale, raising his left, "Unstable apartment," and raising his right, "or apartment below the guy who hates me?" He moved his hands up and down. "They're pretty even!"

Terry moved up and placed a tender hand on Mark's shoulder. "Come on, Mark. You have got to think about Paige too. You can't keep a five-year-old here, _especially_ now."

"You can move in with us," Benny said, hesitating. "We wouldn't mind the company."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You two just moved in together. I can't impose like that."

"Hey," Terry squeezed his shoulder lightly, "maybe this is a sign. You can finally talk to Roger. You've been avoiding him these past two weeks."

Benny rolled his eyes. "Honey, don't get in the middle of it."

"I really don't have a choice now, do I?"

**September 1986**

"_Man, get in. It's freezing out here." Roger breezed by the shaky, bruised form of a man and frowned when he saw that Mark was still standing in the doorway, his hand still holding his bruised cheek and cradling his red arm to his chest. "Hey," Mark jumped at the voice, "I know it ain't no four star hotel or anything like that, but your hurt and cold; in my opinion that's not a good thing."_

"_No…" Mark frowned as he stepped cautiously into the loft, sliding the door behind him. "I-It's nice…?"_

_Roger laughed. "It's hell made of wood and brick!"_

"_You sure it's alright by your roommate if I stay the night?" Mark questioned. "I can always find a hotel or something…"_

"_Do you even have any money, kid? Because by the way those thugs were searching you it didn't look like they were going to get anything." Roger shook his head and rolled his eyes. "There isn't a hotel anywhere close. It's midnight; you'll probably get jumped again if you go out looking for one." Mark visibly shuddered at the thought. "First time getting mugged?"_

"_Uh, yeah," Mark nodded. He grabbed the water bottle Roger held out to him. "It's not really an experience I want to repeat."_

_Roger shrugged. "It's New York City, kid. Chances are you _will_ get mugged again." Roger walked into one of the rooms to Mark's left and came out with a green and white First Aid box. "Here, sit down," he gestured to the kitchen table and Mark obliged as Roger took the seat across from him. "Now, I ain't a nurse but I've done this for my roommate, Collins, a lot."_

"_He gets mugged a lot?" Mark questioned, hissing as Roger dabbed disinfectant on the cuts on his hand. "Any reason why?"_

"_He teaches over at MIT and when he comes back, because he doesn't have a key, he uses the phone booth down below to call up so I can toss him the key for him to get in. Muggers, they see anybody spend a quarter and they'll assume you have a million dollars. Hell, a quarter is basically a million dollars to them." Roger shrugged, giving Mark an ice bag. "Usually when he doesn't show up by morning he'll be sleeping in an alley–"_

"_Shut the hell up Davis."_

_Mark turned his head towards one of the three rooms on his left and watched as an older, taller African American man strode towards him. He wore a black beanie on his head and a sleeveless yellow coat, a grin plastering his face despite the scolding he had just given Roger._

"_Speaking of the devil," Roger recoiled from the slap to the back of his head. "Hey!"_

_Collins chuckled. "Mind your manners." He held out a hand to Mark and smiled. "Thomas Collins. Just Collins."_

"_Mark Cohen." Mark shook his head. "I hope you don't mind me imposing. Roger said I could stay the night, but, if it's a problem then–" he stopped when Collins started laughing. "Um…sorry, did I say something?"_

"_Dang, Mark, you need to calm down. I haven't seen somebody worry so much since…well, since my own mother!"_

_Mark blushed._

"_Jeezus, Thomas, he's barely been here five minutes. You don't have to embarrass him!"_

"_No. No, it's fine." Mark smiled. "Thank you. I can just sleep on the couch until I find a place."_

_Roger rolled his eyes and turned to Collins. "Apparently Mark here is waiting for some Benny Coffin to get here so they can find a cheap apartment."_

"_Good luck on that." Collins smiled. "Winter is setting in and the prices are rising. You probably won't find any place good for a long time."_

"_Oh…"_

"_Just stay, man. When you're friend gets here I'm sure he wouldn't mind staying. We've got room if we bunk two to a room. " Collins peered down at him, suddenly seeing Mark in a different light. "Shit, man, what the hell happened to your face?"_

"_Heh," Roger chuckled as he slapped another bandage on Mark's arm. "This is how we met. Mark got into a bit of trouble with some thug from the club down the street, but I got him out of it before anything got stolen."_

"_Nah…" Collins raised a brow. "What is that?"_

_Mark raised his camera, which was stuffed underneath his arm. "This? It's my camera. I'm a filmmaker."_

"_Boy, don't even tell me," Collins shook his head. "You dropped out of college, didn't you?"_

"_Yeah," Mark nodded, confident. "They said I wouldn't get anywhere. I'm proving all of them wrong. I'll be someone here."_

_Collins smiled and elbowed Roger in the side and Roger grinned back._

"_Boy, you stay as long as you want."_

**January 4th, 10:15 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

Mark juggled three suitcases in his arms as he struggled up the multiple flights of stairs towards the loft. Behind him he could hear the grunts and struggle of Benny and Terry as they each wrestled with their own share of Mark's luggage. He had called Mimi before he packed up and Mimi was more than happy to welcome him and Paige into the loft. Unfortunately, Mimi was on a mission and looking for some answers, wondering why Mark had been avoiding them for the past two weeks like Terry had said. 

It couldn't be avoided; Mark knew that even before he opened his mouth when he was talking to Roger at the _Three Scratches_. Telling Roger he'd bought his CD years ago was pretty stupid to do, he knew Roger's CD was only sold locally, he should've figured somebody would figure it out. Truthfully, however, Mark wasn't really sure if the words slipped or if he wanted Roger to know. Thinking about it made Mark's head ache. He _really_ should've knew somebody would figure it out…somebody would figure out this wasn't his first time back in New York–

"Hey, Mark! This shit is heavy! Move your ass!"

Mark would've jumped if he wasn't so weighed with junk. _Shit_, he told himself as he realized he'd stopped walking in the middle of the landing. "Sorry!" He yelled back before continuing his trek up the stairs.

"Damn it!" Terry hissed. "Cohen I'm going to kill you if you pull that dumbass stunt again!"

"We're almost there!"

A giggle from above caused Mark's head to whip up and a smile to emerge on his lips. He watched as Mimi tossed her brown hair back over her shoulders and look down from the top landing, Roger standing a bit off to the side with a frown on his face and his arms crossed. Mark caught Roger's eyes and was pleased to see Roger actually not glare at him, instead however the stare was blank. No emotion really, or, at least, Mark couldn't tell if it was sad, angry or confused…maybe a little bit of each.

Mimi grabbed one of Mark's boxes as Roger opened the sliding door.

Mark shimmied into the loft and dropped the boxes near the front door. He didn't even watch Terry and Benny as they each dropped to the floor tiredly and leaned against each other, for Mark's eyes were occupied looking at Mimi's old apartment. It was _incredible_. Never had Mark seen a loft cleaner than what he was looking at. Dark wooden tiles were slicked into a near-gloss look, a four-seated wooden table sat in the slick new kitchen, and a spit of bright paint decorated the living room.

"Incredible," Mark breathed. "This is amazing? God, I can only imagine what the loft looks like."

"You can look when you've unpacked." Mimi smiled. "Look around, Mark. Maureen and Joanne were over last week cleaning everything up for you and Paige."

Mark turned to her and pointed out, "You didn't even know if I was going to move in."

Mimi shrugged. "Lucky guess?" She squealed suddenly and leaped off, running towards one of the bedrooms. "Look in here! Check this out, its Paige's room. I decorated it myself!"

_Oh, boy…_ Mark thought as he prepared for the worst. He opened the door and was greeted by a face full of beads.

"Those were mine." Mimi explained, "Roger wouldn't let me keep them anymore."

"Too girly," Roger said shortly, standing near Benny and Terry. "I'm not into that feng shui shit."

"Whatever."

Mark peered through the beads and stepped into a very, _very _blue room. Navy blue walls, dark blue shelves, a blue bedspread and a blue carpet. Near the corner of the room was a small wooden desk with a tiny rolling chair. To the side of it was a dresser and on the other wall was a closed, but instead of a door there were curtains.

"That's…" Mark squinted and tilted his head. "That's really blue, Meems."

"Her favorite color," Mimi said, and off the look, "What? I asked!"

"She'll love it." Mark hugged her and smiled. "Thank you."

"No problem," Mimi smiled, pulling out of the hug. "It was fun to do."

"Not just for this."

Mimi nodded. "I know."

"Mark! Come on!" Benny called from the living room. "You gunna stay in there all day? I don't think Roger likes that his woman is with another man!"

"Shut the hell up Benny!"

When Mark and Mimi walked out they were pleasantly surprised to find Terry standing between the two men with her arms crossed and Roger and Benny each holding the back of their heads as they hissed in silent pain. Terry was mumbling something about "stupid boys" and Roger and Benny were each muttering their own apologizes to the petite woman. Looking up, Terry brightened considerably as she spotted Mark and Mimi.

Mimi raised a brow. "What happened?"

"Oh, well, Idiot number one," she gestured to Benny, "decided to tease idiot number two," she gestured to Roger, "who decided to yell something back and soon they were yelling at each other. Needless to say they were both giving me headache by yelling in my ears so," she shrugged, "they got slapped upside the head."

"Honey…"

Terry smacked him upside the head again. "Don't you "Honey" me Benjamin Coffin, I'm nearly deaf now!"

"Sorry." Roger grunted and was then retrieved with the same smack. "Hey! What'd I do now?!"

"Sarcasm goes a long way, Roger Davis."

Mimi giggled. "I like her."

"Ahem," Terry wiped her hands off on her skirt and smiled. "Well, I'd better get going. They need me down at the gallery to discus some money plans and shit like that."

"Do you need me to go with you?" Mark questioned, stepping up.

"No." Terry fixed her coat. "You and Benny stay here, you've still got two hours until you have to pick up Paige and there are boxes to be unpacked." She leaned forward and kissed Benny on the cheek. "Baby, you don't slack off now."

"See you later." Benny kissed her back. "Be safe."

Terry was gone with a few long strides.

"She's got you whipped." Roger laughed as soon as Terry was out of earshot. "I can't believe you're whipped…"

"Shut up, love," Mimi said. "You got slapped by her too and you're not even her boyfriend."

Roger patted the back of his head experimentally. "She's a hard hitter."

Mimi rolled her eyes and turned back to Mark. "Do you need some help unpacking?"

"No, but thanks," Mark said as he shook his head. "We don't have many boxes anyway."

Mimi nodded. "Come on Roger…" she pulled his arm. "Let's let them work."

"Right…" Roger nodded to Mark but hesitated. "Listen… Why don't you come up for some dinner tonight? Bring Paige too. We'll have some takeout or something."

Mark widened his eyes and saw Mimi, who stood behind Roger, do the same and nod enthusiastically.

"Sure." Mark smiled kindly. "Thanks."

Roger nodded again, a small smile peeking through.

"Good."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Benny wiped another picture frame with one of the dust rags Mark had tossed at his head. He held the black and white picture up to the lamp behind him and squinted, peering through the now-clean glass. The image was of a beautifully dressed brunette standing on an empty porch, the moonlight in the sky, as she posed for a picture, smiling happily. So far Benny had seen multiple images of the same woman, and right away he recognized her from the picture hanging in his and Terry's apartment.

It was Audrey Ram, Terry's younger sister and Mark's wife.

He hadn't heard much from Terry but he got out from Mimi that Audrey had been hit by a drunk driver and she was killed immediately upon impact. She was also an avid photographer, publishing many in a local magazine in Los Angeles. Her and Mark had met when they were in a photography gallery and from there on it was history…

"Hey, man, I'm finally done in Paige's room." Benny whipped around to see Mark coming out of the room, three boxes in his hands. "Man, I tell you, I'll be seeing blue for the rest of the month!"

Nodding distractedly, Benny continued placing picture frame after picture frame on the narrow shelf hung over the miniature television set in the living room, keeping his eyes off Mark. He knew he wasn't good with touchy-feely conversations like Mimi and Terry were; so he wouldn't know what would happen if Mark saw the pictures of Audrey. Benny shook his head, telling himself, _Give the guy some credit. I'm sure it's not so bad anymore. She's been dead for two years now._ Benny shook his head again, that was insensitive and he knew it.

Mark frowned from his position putting pots and pans in the kitchen cupboard. "Something wrong Benny? You seem distracted?"

"No," Benny cleared his throat. "Just thinking."

"Mm-hmm." Mark nodded, chuckling slightly.

_Still_, Benny thought as he wiped down another picture frame, this one of Audrey and Mark on the beach, _I gotta give Mark credit for having the will to move on after the one love of his life died… I don't know what I'd do… _He looked towards the kitchen to where Mark was and stared at the filmmaker's back. _He's got a kid though, so I guess he found a reason to live._

"Jeezus, you sure are a heavy thinker."

"Huh?" Benny shook his head just in time to lose his balance and fall from his place standing atop a chair. He heard the crash of the chair connecting with the wooden floorboards and cracked an eye open to see the amused face of Mark peering down at him. "I hope you know that," he said through gritted teeth, "that was your fault."

Mark grinned. "You okay?"

"Fine. Help me up, would you?"

Laughing, Mark grabbed Benny's hand and helped him to his feet. "What the hell were you doing? I was calling your name."

"I was helping you." Benny wiped the dirt from his shirt and pants. "I was just startled."

"Oh, please," Mark smiled, "nobody thinks that hard. Least of all you."

"Shut it Cohen," Benny warned.

Mark held up his hands in mock innocence. "Just joking!" He then turned to what Benny was working on and, as Benny averted his eyes, understood why the African American was so intent on the silence. Many people, after all, had been treating him like glass since Audrey's death. With a smile, Mark winked and pointed towards one of the pictures of Audrey. "That's us just a few minutes before I proposed," he said. "I had one of the waiters take it while we waited for the wine."

"Oh?" Benny straightened and peered at the picture. He pointed to a beach setting, Mark and Audrey sitting on the beach. "Is that from your honeymoon? I heard from Terry that you two went to Hawaii."

"Yeah," Mark smiled. "We never thought we'd leave… It was great there. Paradise."

"All black and white…Where are all the colored pictures?"

Mark pointed to the newly stacked bookshelf. "In the photo albums; they're all the same, but Audrey loved black and white photography. She made those out of the originals and we bought the frames in Los Angeles. The more recent ones," he pointed to one of Paige, "I did myself. Thought I might as well keep up with the theme."

"Yeah…"

"Oh, shoot, look at the time." Mark glanced at his watch. "We'd better get going if we want to pick up Paige."

"Missing her already?" Benny smirked. "You've been checking your watch for the past hour."

"First time she's been away from me for this long." Mark shrugged. "Can you blame me? Besides, she wasn't too excited when I left her."

"No kid ever is."

Mark shrugged on his coat and Benny put on his own jacket; together they walked down the stairs and into the cold winter day. It would take a few minutes for them to walk towards the school and by the time they got there it should've been dismissal time. They bore the full brunt of the cold weather by walking towards the draft.

"It's fucking cold." Mark chattered. "I forgot how cold New York got."

"How can you forget?" Benny questioned, freezing. "Oh, yeah, Los Angeles," he chuckled. "It doesn't really snow there, huh?"

"It's sunny a lot. Sometimes raining, but a lot of sun," Mark smiled. "It honestly wasn't that bad. It was a big city and kind of reminded me of New York, but it wasn't the same."

"You should tell that to Davis." Benny smirked. "He'd love to hear that."

Mark shrugged. "All Roger wants is an explanation."

"Isn't that easy enough?"

"Easier than freezing me out like he did the first two weeks," Mark said. "It's still going to be complicated…" He looked to Benny questioningly. "Didn't you hear from Mimi…? Maybe Terry?"

"Hear what?" Benny questioned. "I haven't talked to Mimi, besides today, since you did last, at the bar. Terry doesn't really give me any answers to where you've been; usually saying I need to find out on my own."

Mark shook his head. "Unbelievable. The one thing I want out isn't out…"

"What?" Benny raised a brow. "Is it the reason you've been avoiding Roger? Did something happen at the bar?"

"You know Roger's CD?" Mark questioned.

Benny nodded. "Sure. I got one when it came out. Pretty good, but it's not my kind of music."

"I told Roger I bought one a few years ago, which I did."

"So, what does that–" _Local. _Benny's eyes widened and he stopped abruptly, grabbing Mark's arm. "When the hell were you in New York?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Late-1994"

"What in the…?" Benny struggled for words. "How in the…? What? When? _How long?_"

"A month. Three weeks, to be exact." Mark continued walking. "It's not really that big of a deal…"

"Why? Did you bring Audrey? Were you trying to contact us?"

"No." Mark frowned. "I mostly stayed in my hotel room, thinking. I didn't know what the hell I was doing."

"Oh my God… You've gotta be kidding me, Mark! Roger was looking for you for _years_! Trying to figure out where the hell you went and you just now tell me you came back?! This is… Goddamn, man," Benny tilted his head, confused. "What are you going to tell Roger? I'm assuming he doesn't know yet?"

"No. He doesn't know." Mark kicked the ground. "He now knows I was in New York before, but I don't think he knows when or why. And I'm not sure what I'm going to tell him. When he hears the story he'll probably kill me… Heh…"

Benny widened his eyes. "I fail to see how that's funny." Mark laughed. "You didn't talk to anyone?"

"Well… I did talk to Collins…it was the last time…"

_"C__ollins?__"_

"Yeah. He's the one who tracked me down."


	8. Let Linger

**Ch8: Let Linger**

**January 4th, 11:45 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

Leaning over the wooden desk, set in the corner of the loft near the long window panes, Roger held a pencil in a hard grip. He'd been glued to that spot for nearly five hours, save for the stop he'd made to the bathroom and the spare minutes he used to make a bowl of cereal for lunch, just staring down at the notepad in front of him. At first glance, and knowing the particular profession Roger was in, one could've guessed Roger was thinking of ideas for a new song, but, of course, that wasn't the case this time. He was studying what he'd been studying for the past week: Dates.

Mimi, sitting on the couch fake-reading the new edition of the Village Voice, glanced curiously at her husband's back. She disliked seeing Roger like this. He was so worried, so betrayed and so damn confused. It was as if he was reverting back to the same state he'd been in when Mark first left the city. It took a month before Roger had gotten out of that shell, mostly because of Collins's positive influence, but with the professor no longer with them Mimi just didn't know what to do.

Folding down her paper, standing, Mimi walked over to Roger and gently placed her hands on his shoulders to massage his tense muscles. Roger sighed contently and placed a hand over Mimi's as she knelt down and placed a trail of kisses down his neck. "Love," she asked, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Meems."

Mimi shook her head. "Roger…" Guiding the woman over to him, Roger gently allowed Mimi to sit in his lap and lean against his chest as he laid his chin over her head. Mimi could feel the thump of his steady heartbeat and it made a wave of comfort flow through her. She frowned. "You're worrying me."

"I'm fine." Roger stated again, simply, the feel of his neck gently vibrating Mimi's brown curls. "I don't want you to worry about me."

"I can't help it…"

"Hey…" Turning her in his lap, Roger traced a finger over her cheek and flashed a small smile to comfort her. It worked; Mimi smiled back fondly. Seeing this, Roger's smile grew more genuine and he circled his arms around her waist. "There you go, Mimi." He kissed her forehead. "You don't have to worry about me. I don't _want _you to worry about me. Okay?"

"Okay," Mimi confirmed. She pressed her forehead to Roger's. She kissed him on the lips and pulled away slowly before proceeding to jump off and take her own chair next to him, lying her head on his shoulder. Looking down at the notepad on the desk, she questioned, "Just what have you been doing?"

"Oh…this? I-It's nothing."

"Roger… Come on. You've been staring at this pad for a week now. It can't be _nothing_," Mimi reasoned. She peered down and, eyes widening, looked back at Roger. "What is this?" Roger said nothing. "Please, Roger. Maybe I can help."

Roger sighed and ran a weary hand down the length of his face. "I've been thinking about what Mark said at the bar last week–or, at least, what Maureen told me. Then, I started putting these dates together and I-I don't know what I'm trying to find."

"Let's see." Mimi picked up the pad and read, "You got 1990 when we first met and 1991 when Mark left in December." She picked up Roger's pencil and put the month in before adding another date. "Mark married his wife on 1992 of December 31st. Then, Paige was born December 26 in 1993." Her eyes traveled past her and Roger's wedding date of January 1, 1995 and Collins's death of November that same year before she added another date for Audrey's death on December 26, 1996. "You can also put that Mark and Paige moved here on December 23, 1998, just to complete everything."

Roger stared. "How the hell do you know all that?"

"Paige's birthday isn't hard to figure out if you do the math." She was taken aback at the expression on his face. "What? I know how to do math!"

Raising his hands in defense, Roger chuckled. "I'm just surprised you know all this."

"Jeezus, Roger. I did ask, you know."

"All right, whatever." He took the pad from her and placed it back on the desk. "Well…"

"Well…?"

"I'm not sure."

"No?"

"I'm hoping for some kind of connection or something, you know. Maybe something that tells me when he came to New York or why."

Mimi placed a finger to her chin, thinking. She pointed to a date. "Your CD came out late-1993, around Christmastime, but Paige was born that same year on the day after Christmas, so it couldn't be then. He wouldn't leave LA after his daughter is born. He didn't know we were married either so that rules out 1995." She shrugged. "I guess the only explanation is 1994."

"When did you get so knowledgeable?"

"The word, love, is _smart_." Roger rolled his eyes. Mimi smiled. "So, in 1994 Mark came back to the city for who knows how long and then he went back to LA without even meeting up with any of us. Well…supposedly."

Roger recoiled. "What do you mean, _supposedly_? I didn't see him, and you sure as hell didn't. Right?"

"Of course, you know I would've told you." Mimi said, eyeing Roger as he stood to pace the perimeter of the loft. She nervously played with her hair. "I'm just saying that maybe somebody saw him or talked to while he was in the city and never told the rest of us. Maybe… Joanne?"

Shaking his head, Roger deducted, "No way, Joanne's not stupid enough to keep that a secret, even if Mark is begging her not to tell anybody. Even if she did see him she would've told us by now."

"Maureen?"

"Meems! Come on, that too ridiculous to even think about. Can you even believe that Maureen would keep Mark coming to New York a secret from all of us for all this time? No way. Mo was never good at lying, you know."

Mimi sighed. "Fine. What about Benny?"

"Just because Benny is banging Mark's sister-in-law doesn't mean they saw each other in New York. I mean, maybe it's a possibility, but the chances are probably slim. Hell, _we _hadn't even seen Benny since Collins's funeral…"

Mimi froze. She stopped twirling the brown curl of hair around her finger and her face lit up to a beaming smile. Hopping up off the chair in which she sat, she walked slowly to Roger and took his hands, stopping his incessant pacing. "Wait," she said softly. "What did you say?"

Confused, Roger eyed her carefully. "What? We hadn't seen Benny since Collins's funeral?"

"That's it Roger!" Mimi said, hopping up and down. "That's it! Collins!"

"Collins? How is _that_ it? He would've told us!"

"Would he?" Mimi asked. "I mean, come on Roger. Collins can keep a secret and Collins would be willing to keep a secret."

"Why? He knows I was looking!"

"You were a wreck, Roger! You were a damned wreck and nobody wanted you to go down that road again just because Mark was in the city for a few weeks, or months, or however long he was here."

"I was _not_ a wreck, Mimi." Roger growled. "I was just worried!"

Mimi looked up into Roger's eyes and placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "Roger… You were a wreck. It took a month for me and Collins to finally get you to open up and start a normal routine–" Mimi paused. She shook her head. "No…normal would be with Mark, wouldn't it? We got you on a _new_ routine. And you came around."

Roger turned away, back to Mimi. "Well, then, maybe he would've been better off staying in LA."

"You don't mean that, do you?" Mimi shook her head. "You don't mean that. I don't care what you say, Roger. Despite that fact that you're still as mad as hell because he left all of us, you're so happy he's back. You're happy that you finally got to see your best friend again."

Roger shook his head. He said nothing.

"We all missed him, Roger. Maureen was crazy without him and she and Joanne didn't know what to do with themselves after finding their confidant had left. He was a part of us and it's a hole we can never replace. Just like with Angel and Collins. The difference, love, between Angel and Collins and Mark, is that Mark is able to come back to us."

Roger continued shaking his head.

"You don't mean that, Roger. You don't." Mimi walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, her right cheek resting on his back. "You don't mean it. You wanted to see him again. Right? Roger? You don't mean it?"

Roger's head fell. "I don't mean it."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Daddy!"

Stumbling backward, Mark quickly ground his feet and opened his arms as a brown blur barreled down the long steps of the little elementary school and hit his chest while tiny arms wrapped around his neck. A face buried into the crook of his neck and nuzzled against his scarf as Mark gently wrapped his own arms around the tiny body of his daughter, hugging her to him. Mark placed a kiss on her forehead.

Benny stood off to the side of the reunion between father and daughter, his hand coming up to hide a smile as he let out a fake cough. He gently held up the camera Mark had thrown at him and scoffed disbelievingly at the tiny contraption he'd never held before. Mark Cohen carelessly tossing his precious camera aside in favor of catching his daughter up in his arms for a hug… The very thought _floored_ Benny, but, the action? That just left him dumbfounded; it spoke lengths as to the changes Mark had gone through since leaving New York.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Benny cleared his throat to grab Mark's attention. It worked; Mark turned to him and placed Paige on the ground, his hand resting on her flowing hair. Kneeling down, Benny smiled and said, "Hiya, squirt."

"Hiya, Uncle Benny!" Paige mimicked, beaming.

Their official greeting.

Paige raised her hands to him. "Up?"

Benny complied by carefully scooping the little girl up in his arms and swinging her around so she sat comfortably on his shoulders, her hands balancing on his bald head. Mark shot him a grateful look for giving Paige such attention but Benny waved it off. Honestly, he'd grown fond of the girl since the past few days when they'd met. He had babysat her, and after Mark got over his paranoia, he did it by himself when Terry was too busy with work. They'd gotten along well, too, embracing their different natures.

"Lunch?" Paige asked, smiling down as they walked down the city streets, working their way through the small crowd of parents waiting for the early pickup. "I'm hungry."

"Sure, sweetie." Mark agreed, walking alongside the duo. "Where do you want to go?"

"Life Café!"

Benny rolled his eyes.

There weren't many appropriate places to bring Paige that was within walking distance from the gallery, beside the questionable hot dog stands and an ethnic restaurant, and the Life Café was the just the easiest and most flexible place to go. Of course now, however, Paige was getting hooked on the place. Mostly she was drawn to its colorful nature and jaunty waiters, but she also loved the open atmosphere.

They arrived in five minutes and were seated near the pinball machine, thanks to Paige's urgings, in a tiny red booth. A smiling waiter dressed in a floral green shirt and a white apron came up to them almost immediately. Mark and Benny, sitting opposite each other, ordered a cheeseburger with glasses of soda while Paige, placed next to Mark, requested a basket of chicken tenders and apple juice. The food arrived promptly and, within a couple of minutes, the subject of school was brought up.

"So…" Mark smiled, turning to his daughter, "What did you think of your first day of school?"

"Really fun!" Paige replied enthusiastically, munching on a fry. "Lots better than I thought, Daddy!"

"I knew you would enjoy yourself." Mark let out a sigh of relief. "What about your teacher? Was she nice?"

Paige nodded. "Mrs. Sadler was _really_ nice. She told us that I was going to learn all sorts of things, like reading and counting and spelling…"

Benny, holding his burger, remarked, "I bet there were a lot of kids."

"There was, Uncle Benny!" Paige's eyes widened. "They were all the same age as me, too!"

"Imagine that," Benny smirked at Mark. "Did you make any friends, squirt?" Paige shrugged. "Oh…? Do you remember their names?"

"Alex," Paige pouted. "Alex was really mean to me."

"_Mean_-"

Benny interrupted a fatherly rant and calmly asked, "What did she do?"

"Alex stole my crayons and kept putting things in my hair. Mrs. Sadler kept telling Alex to stop but Alex wouldn't. Finally Sam," Paige smiled up at the two adults giving her attention, "walked up to Alex and pushed Alex down! Alex stopped talking to me after that, but I was fine because Sam and I had fun on our own." She looked to Mark. "I told Sam what you said about finding a best friend and Sam said he would be mine!"

Benny's head fell, a smile plastering his face. He knew what would come next.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Paige," Mark was flustered. "Sam, right?" Paige nodded, confused as Mark held his head in his hands. She didn't know that Mark thought Sam was short for Samantha. "Is Sam a _boy_?"

"Of course, Daddy!" Paige laughed. "He's really nice; he told me all sorts of stuff about Mrs. Sadler and what they did while I wasn't there at school. He said he lives with his mommy and daddy and that they went to Los Angeles for Christmas!" Paige smiled. "Mrs. Sadler says she thinks we have a lot in common, but…neither of us knows what that means."

"It means you like the same things and you do the same things," Benny explained. He smiled at her. "It's good that you have a friend. Right Mark?"

"Um..." Mark's mouth opened and closed. "O-Oh…Um, I-I guess…"

Paige cocked her head quizzically.

Stifling a laugh, Benny questioned, sharper, "_Mark,_ isn't it good that Paige made a friend."

Defeated, Mark nodded and plastered a faux smile on his face. "Yes, Paige. It's good you made a friend."

Paige finished off her last chicken piece and turned to Mark. "Can I go play, Daddy?" She pointed to the pinball machine in the corner. "Please? I finished!"

"I don't have any change, sweetie," Mark frowned. "Maybe next-"

"Allow me," Benny interrupted, searching through his pockets. He extracted four quarters and held them out. "How's that, squirt?"

Looking to Mark for confirmation, she leaped up at his nod and hugged Benny around the waist. "Thank you, Uncle Benny!" She pulled back. "Do you want to play too?"

"Maybe next time, squirt." Benny smiled. "I need to talk to your daddy about something."

"_Adult _conversation," Paige nodded. "Daddy said that's what they were."

Benny chuckled and tipped her nose. "That's exactly right."

Paige walked to the machine and dropped two quarters in. Mark kept his eye on her as he turned back to Benny and arched a brow in confusion. "She's made friends with a boy?" Benny laughed. Mark frowned. "It's…it's…I don't know…it's unorthodox, or something."

"Come on, man. You've got to be kidding me. _Unorthodox?" _Benny snorted. "You know, that Daddy Mole of yours is showing."

Mark shook his head, turning back to Benny. "Never mind; forget that. What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"Please," Benny said, scoffing. "Don't play stupid, Mark. You drop a bomb on me that you came to the city and talked to Collins then the damn bell to the school rings and it's like you never said anything. What happened? Were you really in the city? For how long? Why didn't you-"

Mark interjected, "Hey, wait a minute. Don't just pounce on me like that."

"Excuse me for being curious as to why you never called or tracked any of us down."

"I told you, Benny. _Collins _tracked _me _down."

"For what reason?"

"I-It…It's hard to explain. Okay?"

"We've got all day."

**December 1991, 8:34 PM, Eastern Standard Time**

_Fifteen minutes of walking the city streets aimlessly brought Benny and Mark to a tiny diner in Greenwich Village. They shook their coats of the freshly fallen snow and sat down across from each other in one of the booths in the corner. A blond haired waitresses, dressed in a white apron and popping pink gum, came up and they each ordered a cup of hot cocoa and a slice of apple pie topped with whip cream. Their food arrived within minutes._

"_So," Benny asked, "what's up?"_

"_Not much."_

"_Really? Because the last time somebody dragged me from a business meeting to meet for dessert at a diner about fifteen minutes away from the nearest person the both of us know, it's usually for some major news." Benny sipped his cocoa. "So, I ask again, what's up?"_

"_I'm leaving New York City."_

_Coughing up his drink, Benny set his mug down and wiped his face with a napkin. He looked up to stare across toward the calm blue eyes of Mark as the man ducked his head to take a bite of his pie. Benny chuckled, then stopped, and then chuckled again. "You really had me going there for a second," he said. He waited for Mark to join in on the laughter, but, when he didn't, the smirk wiped right off Benny's face. "Wait. You serious?"_

_Mark shrugged. "Mostly."_

"_Mostly?" Benny spat. "Man, Roger and the others don't know your here, do they?"_

"_No, they don't, and I'd appreciate if you don't tell anybody about this little visit. They have enough to worry about right now," Mark said, looking up. "Mimi just got home from the hospital this morning and Roger has been helping her adjust, what with her withdrawal and all. And the others, Collins is over at NYU setting up some meeting with a couple of flunking college kids and Maureen and Joanne are at some party Joanne's new boss threw."_

"_That's why you brought us here, away from them." Benny's eyes widened in astonishment. "Nobody knows, do they?"_

_Mark wordlessly shook his head._

"_You're in deep shit, aren't you?"_

_Sighing, Mark shook his head again. "It's hard to explain, all right. I've been thinking about it ever since Christmas Eve and the more I wrap my finger around it the more I feel an urging to leave."_

"_Why?" Benny asked. "Why leave now, of all times?"_

"_I don't know." He held up his hands in defense when Benny shot him a look. "Honestly! Something is telling me to leave and I'm listening to it. Things here are suffocating me. Maybe I'm thinking too much, I don't know, but I need to leave. I do, Benny, I need to…I don't know…go soul-searching or something."_

"_You belong in New York, Mark."_

"_Do I?" Mark asked. "Because sometimes it's hard to find reasons to stay."_

"_What about everybody? They need you."_

"_They still have each other. When I leave they're not going to fall apart."_

"_You said, _when_," Benny pointed out. "Does that mean you've already made up your mind?"_

_Mark opened his messenger bag and pulled out a train ticket. He placed it on the table and used a finger to slide it over to Benny, who looked at it with displeasure. "I can't stay here, Benny. I need you to understand that." He took back the ticket and hid it in a small pocket on the side of his bag. "Do you?"_

"_No, man. How am I supposed to?"_

"_I need to look for myself, outside the city," Mark tried. "I need to look for a reason to come back-"_

_Benny shook his head. "What better reason is there than the reassurance of your own friend's words?"_

"_I need to know, myself." Mark emphasized, "Myself. I need to do this for me, for once in my life. That may seem as selfish as hell, but I won't feel good about myself if I don't do this."_

"_Roger is going to be pissed."_

"_He'll understand. He did go to Santa Fe."_

"_It doesn't matter," Benny sipped his cocoa. "Roger is as stubborn as hell and he'll be pissed, for sure. No matter what the circumstances; no matter what he, himself, did in the past. He's going to forget about all that because _you're_ the one who's leaving _him_."_

_Mark shook his head. "Before that might've mattered more to me."_

"_And now?"_

"_I still care about everybody, Benny."_

"_Why tell me, Mark? We haven't been on the best of friends as of late."_

_Mark chuckled, cracking a small smile. "Well, come on Benny. You are the one who dropped out of Brown University with me and moved to this city. We met Roger and Collins and we shared a loft with them for a few years. There's no reason to forget the past. We were all happy then and then…well, all shit hit the fan. You're still one of us, Benny. Despite what you want to think."_

"_Is that what you think I think?"_

"_Is it?"_

_Benny shrugged. "When will you tell the rest of them?"_

"_Soon. Real soon."_

"_All at once? I can be there, if you want."_

_Mark looked at him. "Would you?"_

_Benny nodded and suggested, "Tell Collins, alone. He's the more sensible one, and then, you can tell everybody else." He shook his head. "It's going to be hell any way you do it."_

"_I know. Thanks, Benny."_

"_I can't say I support this, but you had better come back, Mark."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

From his perch on the wooden table absently strumming the acoustic guitar he cradled in his lap, Roger watched Mimi move around the loft, dusting spray in one hand and an old rag in the other. She'd been cleaning for the past hour, rearranging odd knickknacks and lighting cinnamon-scented candles. After dusting was complete, Mimi tossed the rag and can under the bathroom sink and moved to sweep the wooden floor, shoving dust bunnies to the side and picking them up with a scooper, tossing the debris into a black garbage bag she'd nearly filled to the top. When done with that task, Mimi placed the broom to the side and tied up the bag with a little twisty.

"Roger, could you take out the garbage?"

"Why can't you?"

Mimi glared.

_Open mouth, _Roger thought as he realized what he'd said, _Insert foot._

"Love," Mimi continued, steadily raising her voice angrily, "I've been cleaning up the loft while you've been staring at my ass for the past hour and a half! I'm exhausted, I'm tired, and I'm dirty! Now, would you _please _do this so I can take a shower and freshen up before my damn lasagna burns?!"

Eyes widening, snapping out of his trance, Roger hopped off the table and placed his guitar onto its stand before stealthily moving to pick up the garbage bag Mimi held out. He kissed her cheek, chuckling nervously, and bolted out the metal door before she could start another rant. He closed the door safely behind him, locking it, and turned to walk down the stairs. As much as the loft had changed for the better, they still didn't have any garbage chutes and all the tenants had to bring the bags down to the dumpsters at the side of the building.

Plugging his nose as he went to the side, Roger hefted the black bag over his head and dropped it into the dumpster. After doing so, Roger walked back around the side of the building and stopped short, groaning at the sight in front of him: Maureen, clad in a pair of tight jeans and a black tank top, stood in the middle of the sidewalk, her hands cupped to the side of her mouth.

"MIMI! ROGER!" she yelled. "Throw down the key!"

Stifling a laugh as Joanne smacked her forehead with her hand, Roger walked out of the alley. He rolled his eyes as Joanne caught sight of him. He gently placed a hand on Maureen's shoulder to get her to calm down. "Maureen," he said. "Mimi is in the shower; she probably can't hear you."

"I doubt that," Joanne muttered. She turned to Roger and asked, "What're you doing out here?"

"Taking out the trash," Roger replied, rolling his eyes.

"Ha! Roger Davis is taking out the trash?" Maureen laughed.

Roger glared. "What's so funny?"

"Well…it is you, Roger," Maureen said. "You haven't cleaned anything in years."

"Mimi is doing it, all right? She's been cleaning up for the past hour."

"Oh…?" Joanne asked, "What for?"

"Mark's coming over for dinner."

Maureen's eyes lit up and Roger mentally slapped himself for that offhanded comment.

"Dinner with Mark and Paige?" she said, excited. "Oh! I can't wait! What time? Is he coming over already?"

Joanne said, "We can come back later if you're still busy."

Roger frowned. "Actually… It's supposed to be just us."

"Just you?" Maureen spat. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Oh…" Joanne nodded. She pulled on Maureen's arm. "Honey bear, he's right. They need to do this."

"Why only them?"

Roger said, "It's a friendly dinner–"

"_Friendly?_ You realize that we're friends too, right?" Maureen asked vehemently. "Besides, you and Mark haven't exactly been on the best of terms since he got back. Every time you two meet it turns into a big argument! If you think I'm going to–"

"_Maureen_," Roger interjected. "I can't promise you that it's not going to be an argument."

"Then what makes you think I'll leave?"

Removing his hand from her shoulder, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket, Roger dropped his head. He sighed and said, "I know Mark needs to explain his absence to all of us, and I'm sure he will with time. I know it's not fair and I'm being selfish but…" Roger shook his head, trailing off.

"You need to hear it," Maureen whispered. Her face softened and she looked away, ashamed at her outburst. "I-I'm sorry. Okay? I just…I want to know as much as you do and…" She shrugged. "It's hard waiting, you know?"

Looking up, Roger nodded. "I know."

Joanne stepped up and placed a comforting hand on Roger's shoulder. "Just hear him out, all right? He left New York for a reason, you know."

"I will." Roger nodded again. "And I know."

"Roger, when Mark explains why he left, when he explains why he never came back until now…" Maureen sighed. "You know, he may not say what you want to hear."

"What do you think I want to hear?"

"That he had no choice."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Finally being able to explain why and what happened when he came back to New York the first time lifted a large burden off Mark's shoulders. He found it a relief that somebody finally now knew the full story of what had been going on. And, surprisingly, Benny had been rather easy to talk to. Benny stayed quiet at times, nodded at certain slow points, put in his own two cents when needed, waited patiently when Mark stopped lengthily in his explanation and urged Mark on whenever Mark was debating as to whether he should continue. All in all, long story short, Benny provided Mark an open ear.

"You tell Roger that. Okay?" Benny had ordered him when Mark was done. "The truth is the truth; there's no reason to feel bad about it."

Mark had told him, "It doesn't make me feel any less guilty."

"Nothing would've changed, man. You couldn't have done anything."

And, with those simple words, Mark and Benny left the Life Café to take Paige to the park. It wasn't really part of the plan but Mark figured Benny thought they needed to calm down after such an intense conversation before heading anywhere. Mark didn't mind; Paige had been begging him to take her out, but he was always too busy with the gallery and trying to find a steady job.

Still, Mark stood on the sidelines with a camera to his face as he zoomed in on Benny pushing Paige on a nearby swing set. The duo wore matching grins and laughed openly. Swinging her legs to-and-fro, Paige steadily moved higher and higher into the air, commanding, "Higher, Uncle Benny! Higher!" She looked toward Mark and grinned into the camera. "Look, Daddy! I'm _flying_!"

"Flying high, sweetie!" Mark laughed. He dropped his camera from his eye and held it to his chest, making sure to keep it on the event in front of him, and flashed a grateful grin toward Benny. Benny waved it off with an equal grin plastering his face, just like he did when he picked up Paige after she got off school.

Benny had changed for the good; that was a definite fact. He was more caring and patient, almost as his younger self was when he followed Mark in dropping out of Brown. Also, he wasn't hardcore businesslike anymore, and he'd calmed down to his old bohemian roots with an even bigger passion for music production. Benny had told Mark that he'd been able to close down an old factory building, much to the delight of Maureen, and was growing it into a production company with Terry as his partner. Their corporation so far unnamed.

"Uncle Benny!" Jumping off the swings, landing safely in Benny's outstretched arms, Paige giggled happily as Benny tossed her up into the air and caught her flawlessly. The actions continued, Paige going higher each time. "You're silly, Uncle Benny!"

"Whoa…" Benny caught Paige one last time and held her out before him. "You realize, squirt, that Uncle Benny is old. I have a _very_ bad back." Paige giggled and giggled. "Ha! Laugh all you want!" Benny carefully swung her around so that Paige was laying against him piggyback style, his arms hooked to hold her dangling legs as Paige wrapped her arms around his neck.

Mark met them halfway as they walked toward him. He tilted his head up to look at Paige.

Paige grinned. "I'm taller than you, Daddy!"

Mark nodded, putting his camera into his messenger bag. "You're real tall, sweetie."

Benny smiled, straightening, much to Paige's enjoyment. "It's almost 3 o'clock," he commented, checking his watch.

"We should probably head back now; Paige hasn't seen the building." Mark turned to his daughter and patted her arm. "She'll love what Mimi did–"

Paige interjected, "Mimi! Oh, Daddy, do I get to see her now? And Uncle Roger?"

Having been avoiding the couple since Roger figured out that Mark had been back in the city Paige hadn't seen Mimi and Roger. She asked almost all the time to see Mimi and her Uncle Roger, but Mark always shot her down with excuses of work and business. For the first few days Paige accepted it, but as the days moved on and added up to a week, Paige quickly grew impatient.

"Please, Daddy?" Paige begged as she poked her head over Benny's shoulder. "I'll be good from now on! Please!"

Mark smiled. "Well, how 'bout this sweetie, we're going to have dinner with them tonight!"

"Yes!"

"We've also got a big surprise that I think you're going to _love_."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger watched as Mimi, swearing profusely, waved a hand in front of her face as black smoke slowly formed in the air. She let go of the oven door and winced as it slammed open before bending down to reach a mitten-hand to take out a gray pan with a yellowish-black substance in it. Her face fell at the sight of the burnt food and, out of frustration, slammed the oven door shut with a hard kick. Poking at the food with black spatula, Mimi muttered to herself.

_Jeezus, _Roger thought to himself. _What is with her today?_

"Meems," Roger said from his perch on the wooden table. "It's all right."

Turning to glare, Mimi demanded, "How can you say that? Dinner is ruined!"

"No… No, we can still eat it. It's just a little burnt. Besides, burnt lasagna tastes a helluva lot better."

"Roger! It's not _supposed_ to be burnt!"

"Good cooks compromise all the time." Roger shrugged. "Improvisation." He watched as she slammed her oven mitts down on the kitchen counter and busied herself with cleaning the mess she'd made in the kitchen. "Why make dinner, anyway? We haven't used that damn oven in over five years. Heck, you weren't even the one that cooked! Joanne did!"

"That's not the point, Roger."

Roger rolled his eyes. _Okay, man, mend some fences here…_

"I told Mark we were having takeout."

Mimi turned to him. "I wanted to make a nice dinner for all of us! Okay? Every time we meet we're always ordering Chinese or pizza or we're eating beer nuts in a bar or ordering food from the Life Café. Can't we cook for ourselves?"

_No. Definitely no._

"Apparently not." Roger waved away the smoke, trying to make a joke. He noticed Mimi's face fall and instantly regretted his words. _Strike out humor as an option, Davis._ "Hey, come on now, we're fine with takeout. Don't get so worked up about a little bit off food."

"Damn grocer said it was instant lasagna," Mimi muttered as she picked up the discarded box, reading the back. "It's only supposed to take a few minutes to heat!" She shook her head and turned back to the lasagna. "If I cover it with an extra layer of cheese than it may not look so bad." She busied herself with that task and told Roger, "Get off the table. We're eating there tonight."

Roger complied, hopping off the table as he rolling his eyes at being ignored.

"Meems," he said, taking her shoulder in his hand.

Sagging against his touch, Mimi let out a hefty sigh. "Roger… Look, this is a dinner between me, you and Mark–"

Roger interjected, "And Paige."

"All the more reason to be freaked," Mimi commented turning to face him. "You and Mark are going to argue tonight; I know it. Don't do that in front of his daughter. Don't do it in front of Paige."

Roger sighed. "We have to have explanations–"

Mimi interjected, "I understand that. Some things, though, a five-year-old girl shouldn't hear until she's older." She put an arm on his shoulder. "You're not being selfish wanting to hear this." Roger opened his mouth to ask, but Mimi beat him to the punch. "I heard you and Maureen talking."

"How?" Roger asked.

Mimi shrugged. She turned to wet a cloth and wash down the wooden table. "I heard Maureen when she was calling our names from the street, right before I got in the shower, so I peeked out on the fire escape and eavesdropped in on your conversation." Finishing her task, Mimi dropped the cloth in the right-hand sink and washed her hands in the sink on the left. "I agree with her, though. I agree you shouldn't be expecting to hear a specific reason as to why Mark left."

"I'm not looking for anything specific," Roger said, running a hand through his hair. "I just want the truth."

Drying her hands with a towel, Mimi said, "The truth hurts."

"You're just as nervous."

"Of course."

"Then, why are you smiling?"

Mimi took Roger's hands in her own. "Because, love, as much as the truth hurts, it feels a helluva lot better finally being out in the open. I think Mark will find that out when he gets here."

Roger shook his head and brought Mimi's hands up to kiss. "I thought you were just a nervous cleaner, Meems." He turned to the loft and gestured around with his hands. "If nerves isn't why you cleaned, then why the hell have you spent the last three hours with dust spray in your hands?"

"It's not really for, Mark, I guess," Mimi said, finger going to her chin in deep concentration as she turned her back on Roger. "I mean, I know he hasn't been here since he got here in December, but I've been trying to clean everything up for Paige."

Taken aback, Roger asked Mimi's back, "For Paige?"

Mimi nodded. "She can't see that we live like slobs, don't you see? She's a five-year-old girl, Roger. A little girl! Her mother died when she was young and the only influence in her life, for as long as she can remember, has been her father because he's the only person she knows. Coming to New York, seeing all of us, calling you and Benny her uncles and looking to me and Maureen and Joanne, that's like bringing some more family in her life…"

"What?" Roger asked as Mimi paused. "What about it?"

Turning suddenly, Mimi flashed a grin. "I've never been looked up to by somebody, Roger. Never in my whole life have I been the one that can cause such a positive influence on a life that's just beginning. I'm making a positive influence. _Me, _Roger! It makes me feel…" Trailing off, Mimi linked her hands together and held them above her chest as she let out a shay breath. "We're all looked up that way by her now, each and every one of us."

Roger nodded his head absently. Now that Mimi mention it, she was right about the bohemians becoming a positive influence in Paige's life. And Roger knew that that had never happened to him before. When he was growing up he never had a little brother or sister or cousin around to stick up for, he never had a little friend to take care of; he was just on his own. Suddenly this, though? Suddenly a five-year-old little girl walks into his life and looks to him as her own uncle? That meant something to Roger, and, actually thinking about it…thinking that he actually made an impact on Paige's life, no matter how little of a time he knew her so far, that actually made Roger feel good.

_Heaven forbid I feel good about myself, _Roger thought, turning to stare out the long window panes of the loft as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's just a taste of what Mark feels, though. That parental accomplishment… It has got to be hard, you know, somebody looking to you above everybody else." Mimi shrugged. "I think that's why I respect Mark a lot more. After everything he's gone through with losing his wife, moving back to New York, trying to come back into our lives, he still manages to be a great dad for Paige."

Roger couldn't deny Mark's amazing parental skills for Paige and that, honestly, surprised Roger a helluva a lot more than it probably should have. Mark was, after all, the one who babied him about taking AZT. Still, had Mark told him ten years ago that he was going to be a father, Roger would've laughed until his face turned blue. Now, though, seeing it in front of him with his own eyes, Roger knew the father role fit Mark perfect. Mark cared for Paige; he cared for her more than anything in the world–it was already too easy to see.

"Look," Mimi said, jarring Roger from his thoughts, pointing out the window. "He's here."

Focusing down to follow Mimi's finger, Roger looked down and found Mark and Benny walking down the street, Paige on Benny's back ridding piggyback style. The two men seemed to be laughing at something Paige was saying and Roger smirked at their happiness. Seeming to feel his gaze on him, Mark turned his head and caught Roger's eyes. He looked to be in between a smile and a frown, and, seeing this, Mimi turned to wave enthusiastically.

Elbowing him in the side, Mimi ordered, "Come on, Roger. Wave!"

Lifting a hand subtly, Roger waved to his friend.

_Jeezus, _Roger thought as he brought his hand back down. _Did I just…? Friend…?_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Smiling, Mark turned back toward Benny and Paige and picked up his pace to catch with them as he stepped onto the stoop and opened the door. Holding it open as Benny, stooping slightly to accommodate Paige, walked through, Mark then let it close before leading the way up the various flights of stairs. He made it to their level, just two flights away from Roger and Mimi and four flights from the roof, and brought a key out to unlock the large sliding door. As he opened it, Paige gasped in awe. Benny lowered her to the ground, gently, and Paige clambered over to Mark.

"Where are we, Daddy?" She asked, tugging on the cloth of his jeans. "It's pretty here!"

When Mark and Benny finally unpacked all their things–which had finally arrived one day ago from LA–the loft felt a lot more comfortable. Mark had a solid black carpet laid down over the wooden floor of the living room and he and Benny carried up a couch and two side small tables, which were placed at each end of the couch. Various shaped shelves hung around the living room holding picture frames of instances with Audrey, Paige, Terry, Benny and each of the other bohemians. The kitchen was stocked with new dishes and silverware and the wooden table had new wooden chairs.

"Daddy! That's my guitar!"

Following Paige's exclamation, Mark chuckled as his daughter scrambled away from Mark and stood in front of the acoustic guitar. Mimi told him that it was Roger's old one and he didn't need it anymore; that it was a gift for Paige.

"Sure is, sweetie." Mark placed a hand on her head, smiling. "That was Uncle Roger's stand and he wanted you to have it."

"Why is it here?" Paige repeated, "Where are we, Daddy?"

"Well," Mark said, "something happened to the place we were living in, the place above the gallery?" Paige nodded. "There was an accident over there and we can't go back."

Paige's eyes widened. "Never?"

Mark crouched down in front of her, laughing as he took her hands in his. "No, sweetie, not forever. We'll go back there again, but not for a while. What that means, though, is that we have to live somewhere else. Understand?"

"We don't have anywhere to live?"

"No." Mark smiled. "You see, Daddy has friends that are so _incredible _that they fixed this place up and they're going to let us live here for as long as we want." He held his arms out and picked Paige up as she hugged him. Leading her to her bedroom, Mark said, "That means you get this!" He opened the door to the blue room. "Your own room!"

Paige exclaimed, "This is _my _room?"

"Sure is." Mark put her own the bed in the center of the room. "How do you like it?"

"_Awesome! _Uncle Benny," she jumped up and down on the bed, looking over Mark's shoulder, "Look! It's _blue_!"

"Your favorite color?" Benny guessed with a smile as Paige nodded. "It's perfect, squirt."

"Mimi decorated it," Mark put in. "Just for you, sweetie."

"Just for _me_?" Paige gasped. "Wow!"

Laughter. "I'm sure Mimi is happy to hear that."

Whipping around at the familiar voice, Paige's eyes widened considerably. She hopped once on her bed before leaping full off and landing right in Roger's arms yelling, "Uncle Roger! Uncle Roger! Uncle Roger!"

Roger laughed, mocking, "Paige! Paige! Paige!" He shifted her in his arms and smiled as she hugged him around the neck.

"Do you like the room?" Mimi asked, walking up from behind.

"Thank you! Thank you!" Paige said, one hand staying around Roger as she leaned over and half hugged Mimi. "Thank you!" She let go of Mimi and settled back in Roger's arms, grinning at them.

"You're welcome," Mimi said, also grinning as she nodded a greeting to Benny and Mark.

Paige asked Roger, "How'd you know where we were, Uncle Roger?"

"We live just upstairs." Roger smiled. "Right above your head."

Paige looked up and pointed at the ceiling. "Up there?"

Roger laughed at the literal meeting. "There's a loft, a place like this one, up another two flight of stairs. Mimi and I have lived there for a long time. Now we can see each other all the time!"

"Really?" Paige exclaimed. She turned and looked to Mark. "Really, Daddy?" Mark nodded. "Yay!"

"Come on," Roger said, "you'll see so much that pretty soon you'll be begging your Daddy stop visiting me."

"Nuh-uh!" Paige shook her head as she once again hugged Roger's neck. "Never, Uncle Roger!"

Mark smiled. He loved that Roger got along with Paige.

Mimi tugged his arm, grabbing his attention. "We saw you come in." Mark nodded. He had seen them too. "If you're done showing Paige the loft then I thought you might like to come upstairs for a while before we eat. You know, just talk?"

"Yeah." Mark nodded. "Thank you. That'd be nice."

"You're welcome to join us, Benny." Mimi turned toward him. "The more the merrier."

"That's all right. Actually," Benny looked to his watch, "I should probably get going. I told Terry I'd dropped by the gallery and pick her up for dinner." He looked up and turned to Mark. "I'll have Terry call you about the gallery tomorrow morning."

"Right." Mark nodded. "Thanks for the help here."

"No problem." Benny turned to Roger and clasped the man's shoulder in acknowledgment. He turned toward Paige and smiled as Roger gently transferred the little girl into his arms.

Kissing Benny on the cheek, Paige then hugged him. "See you later, Uncle Benny."

"I'll see you later, squirt. You have a good night. Okay?" Hugging her close to him one last time, Benny smiled and set Paige on the floor. Flashing a goodbye, he left.

"Hey, Paige," Roger crouched down in front of the little girl, "how'd you like to see me and Mimi's apartment right now?"

Paige grinned.

* * *

**Non-Beta'd / Self-Edited**

**As stupid as it sounds, considering the still horrid length between chapters, I pride myself in having a faster update. Granted, this is due to the fact that my beta is occupied, but I still count that as a win. Especially considering all the positive reviews pertaining to the last chapter; with which I am most grateful. As noted above, though, this is still a self-edited chapter until my beta gets hold of it, so please excuse all the grammar and spelling errors I've undoubtedly made.**

**Also, to note, I've reorganized all the chapters to accommodate a new way of displaying chapter titles and the times that certain scenes, including the **_**italicized **_**flashbacks, are presented. A new disclaimer, which is regarded for the whole story, has also been added to the first chapter.**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**HAPPY DAYS**


	9. Speak Up

**Ch9: Speak Up**

Leather furniture replaced the duct-taped couch that once sat in the living room; the dirt clad coffee table was tossed in favor of a refurnished circular one; and the broken metal table from the kitchen had been swapped for a medium-sized wooden table. The wooden floor was spotless and the room was lit up effectively by the rays of light shining down the now-fixed skylight and through the windowpanes that had always decorated the far wall.

Taking a tentative step forward, uneasy to Roger's following stare, Mark ran a hand down his face as he swung around to take in his surroundings. He walked the length of the living room and stopped mid-step as he realized which photos were adorning the black frames that lined the walls. He lifted a finger to stroke the picture of Collins, where he'd abruptly stopped, but dropped his finger suddenly as Roger cleared his throat to bring him crashing back to the land of the living. And Mark covered the slip by sticking moving his hand to scratch the back of his head, turning and flashing a wary smile.

Roger stood in the doorway with Paige, who remained oblivious to the tense air as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet to observe her new surroundings; and Mimi stood aside from the duo with a contemplative expression.

"Place looks nice. Real nice," commented Mark as he swept his arms around the loft. "And you've got _heat_! That's something."

"A miracle all in itself?" Mimi stifled a laugh as she started forward and took Mark's hands in her own, giving them a gentle squeeze as he looked away, embarrassed with his words. "It is nice, isn't it?" she asked, to which Mark nodded. "Good. I decorated and picked the furniture, but it was Roger's CD that gave us the chance."

"It was a good CD," muttered Mark. He looked back at her for a moment, thoughtful, then gave a small smile and released her hands from his. He stepped over to the door and crouched down in front of his daughter. "You liked Uncle Roger's CD, didn't you sweetie?" As Paige cocked her head in confusion, Mark reminded, "Remember the song that had to do with eyes…?"

Roger caught on quickly and a sudden grin split across his face as he hefted Paige up. "_Your eyes, as we said our goodbyes, can't get them out of my mind, and, I find, I can't hide from your eyes…"_ He nuzzled Paige's nose against his own as he hummed out the tune.

Paige giggled and swung her arms around Roger's neck, effectively hugging him.

Mark straightened from his position and looked away from the moment between makeshift niece and tighter-than-blood uncle. _Maybe this won't be so bad after all, _he thought, returning the encouraging smile Mimi shot him. _Or…this could just be the calm before the storm._ As the thought passed Mark's mind, his smile dropped and he turned his gaze to the floor as he shifted uneasily.

Mimi, noticing this, frowned to. She twiddled her thumbs behind her back and moved her gaze to Roger, clearing her throat to regain attention. "Dinner is done now if we're hungry; but, if not, I was thinking we could all just relax for a moment and talk before we eat."

The hint was obvious. The _talk_ was not just a plain talk.

"Hungry," said Paige simply, turning in Roger's arms as she addressed her father. "Can we eat, Daddy? Please?"

Mark laughed. He turned to Mimi. "How 'bout it, Meems?"

"Sure, we can eat," replied Mimi. "But, first, let's shed those coats. Roger…?"

Dutifully, Roger set Paige down and offered her his hand to guide her back to the front door, where he proceeded to gently grab the back of her jacket and help her extract herself from her fluffy coat. Roger hung it on the metal hanger that was nailed to the wall and Mark walked forward, doing the same with his jacket and scarf.

"Look," whispered Mark, hands still on his coat as he caught Roger's attention, "what I need to say to you, I don't want my daughter to hear it."

"I can understand that," replied Roger.

"Roger! Mark! Stop dillydallying and get over here!"

Mark turned to find Mimi in the kitchen, apron wrapped around her waist and oven mitt adorning her right hand, cocking a brow questioningly at the two as she carefully picked up Paige to sit her in one of the chairs around the table. She turned and opened the oven and made a flourish as she grasped the pan inside and placed it in the center of the table. Paige giggled at the display, clapping happily as Mimi danced around for the child's amusement.

A cheesy smell graced Mark's nostrils as he stepped into the kitchen, and he glanced down at the food in the pan. "This looks _great_, Meems." He looked from the pan to the oven and back to the pan. "I didn't know you knew…" he swallowed the words quickly as he realized what he was about to say. "You know, takeout would've been fine." Mimi's face fell and Mark's eyes bulged as he mentally slapped himself for that one. "No! I meant you didn't have to go through so much trouble."

"Oh…" The smile was back. "No trouble at all."

She elbowed Roger in the side as he mumbled something under his breath, and disguised it as a small stretch as she gestured Mark to the chair across from Paige and Roger into the seat next to him. They looked to each other and settled in uncomfortably as Paige giggled up at the two of them.

Roger smiled at the girl. "What's so funny?"

"_Dillydallying!_" Paige grinned. "You were _dillydallying._"

Roger laughed.

Mimi, still grinning like a Cheshire cat, cut into the lasagna with a spatula and scooped out one decently sized portion for each of them. She turned to the fridge and asked, "What's everybody like to drink?" she asked. "We've got apple juice, pineapple juice, soda, and beer."

Paige called out for an apple juice while the three adults settled with soda.

Mimi, seeing Paige struggling with her food, grabbed a knife from the drawer and carefully snaked around the young girl to cut the lasagna into small pieces. She laughed as Mark stood to take over and waved him down. "It's no trouble." As she finished, and patted Paige's head as she got a small "thank you", she took the open chair next to Paige, across from Roger, and settled to her own food. "This is nice, isn't it?"

Mark took a bite from the food, easily disguising his hesitance for tasting something Mimi cooked, and gave a genuine smile as he swallowed. "Well," he replied, "this is really good. _Fantastic_, Meems!"

"You flatter me too much, Mark."

"Nuh-uh!" Paige shook her head so brown locks flew from side-to-side. "This _is_ good, Mimi!"

Mimi laughed outright as she placed her fork down and reached over to wipe the sauce from Paige's face. "You really think so?" she asked the girl, who nodded her head enthusiastically, causing Mimi to fall deeper into a fit of laughter. "Good! I'm glad you like it." She folded the napkin and placed it on her lap. "So… Somebody told me _somebody _started _school_ today."

Paige's face brightened. "Me! Me! I did!"

"Sure, Mimi," Roger grinned "get the kid riled up when she's _eating_."

Blushing as she once again wiped Paige's mouth from a stray line of cheese, Mimi shook her head and continued the conversation. "Did you like it, Paige?"

"Uh-huh!" Paige grinned. "It was fun and I made a _best friend_."

Mark groaned and Mimi eyed him suspiciously.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Daddy acted _weird _when I told Uncle Benny, though, and Uncle Benny just laughed," Paige continued, giving a child-like shrug as she talked around the food in her mouth.

"Swallow, sweetie," ordered Mark.

"Sorry, Daddy." Paige did so, and continued, "His name is Sam and–"

Roger and Mimi laughed and Mark flushed as he sunk lower in his seat.

"…really nice and we have lots in common!"

Roger leaned forward and winked at Paige. "You got yourself a boyfriend, Paige?"

Contemplating the words _boy_ and _friend_, Paige nodded. As the married couple continued to laugh and Mark flushed an even darker red, Paige continued to eat as if nothing changed. "Sam agreed with me too; adults _are_ weird."

"No boys until fifty?" teased Mimi.

Mark just shrugged.

The conversation took a lighter tone as Paige chatted about her fun filled school day with Sam and continued on to tell about the time she spent in the park with her uncle Benny. Mimi laughed at that particular part and gathered Paige's attention to question the young charge about what they did as Mark and Roger whispered amongst themselves civilly.

"Benny's really taking a role in this uncle business, huh?" asked Roger.

"Well, yeah," replied Mark. "He is dating Paige's aunt, but I think he's actually really fond of her."

"Who? Terry or Paige?"

"Both, actually."

"Not another Allison hopefully."

"Nah. If it was, Terry would know. She can handle herself real well."

"I'm sure you would know too. It's doubtful that you would stand on the sidelines if Benny was doing that to your sister."

"In-law."

"Same thing, right?"

_Friendship is thicker than blood. Family is too. _It had been their mantra back in the day. Mark remembered they had toasted to be friends forever in spite of all the disputes they had.

So… When did that change?

**December 31, 1991**

_It had been decided that because his leave was impromptu there would be no party, but, instead, all the bohemians gathered into the loft and spent the night with each other in the living room. Sometime in the night, the power went out and the heat turned off as a winter storm blew through. Some hoped that this meant a delay in his leaving, but others knew that nothing could stop him after all this time of begging and pleading and crying. Mark had made up his mind and was leaving in the night, just hours before midnight._

_When it was time, wordlessly they all shuffled out the door and remained a huddled mass of big jackets and body heat as Mark and Roger remained in the loft, one to finish last minute packing and the other to play his guitar in the same cross-legged position on the metal table in the kitchen. They were silent, aside from the soft music emitting from the guitar, but mindful of the precious time they had together. After a few minutes and a few deep breaths, Mark emerged from his now-empty room wearing three sweatshirts, a corduroy jacket, his trademark scarf, and a heavyset messenger bag swung around his neck._

_The music stopped. Roger's head remained down._

_Mark gestured to his bag. "I didn't think you'd want to see the camera…"_

"_I don't."_

_Up and down, within the week since Mark had told Roger he was leaving the city, it had been a rollercoaster of emotions. Collins told him, before he told Roger, that it was the five stages of grief, but Mark wasn't sure. Sure, denial had been obvious, Benny hadn't believed it either, but just because Roger refused to acknowledge that Mark was leaving…that didn't mean anything. Bargaining? Yeah, it was kind of weird when he offered to move into Mimi's loft instead of her moving up with them, but that wasn't anything. Anger hadn't really been a big deal either; Roger was, after all, an angry person. Depression too. Roger was _always _depressed._

_Now, what about acceptance? Was that what the freeze-out was? Blind acceptance?_

"_Well," Mark shifted on his feet, "I guess this is it."_

"_Yup."_

_Mark didn't know what else there was to do. He'd left the photographs in his room, under the mattress, and he did all the drawn out goodbyes over the week when everybody first found out. There wasn't anything expected except to just…leave._

_But, still, he couldn't just walk away from Roger just like that. So, he dropped his messenger bag near the metal door and turned back to Roger with a grim smile plastering his face as he reached a hand back to scratch his neck nervously. "Look, Roger–"_

"_Don't you have a cab to catch?" _

_Mark sighed. "I don't want to leave like this, Roger."_

_Snapping up, Roger met Mark with flared eyes. "You should've thought of that before you bought that damned bus ticket." Poising his fingers quickly, Roger strummed his guitar with newfound adrenaline and a hard, angry tune filled the air. "How'd you think this was going to go?"_

"_Would you believe a hug and wave goodbye?" Mark chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he took another step forward. He, however, halted in his steps, taken aback, as Roger's glare deepened and darkened. "I'm j-just joking, Rog. You know that."_

_Roger jumped from the metal table and turned his back on Mark to put his guitar in its case. "I'm dead serious." He locked the clasps before turning back, arms crossing over his chest. It was almost comical, how Roger looked like a young child that was having a fit. Mark would've laughed had it not been the ferocity in Roger's eyes. "You don't want to leave like this? So? What do you have to say?"_

"_I…um–well…" Mark licked his chapped lips and bounced from foot-to-foot. "Ah jeezus, Roger…"_

"_Powerful words," spat Roger as he kicked the heel of his boot to the ground angrily. "If that's it, then maybe you should just leave."_

_Swallowing, Mark shook his head. "Look, Roger! Just look! This isn't about you, okay? It's nothing against you. This is about _me_. And I know that's selfish, I know it's so _incredibly _selfish, but that's what it is. It's _me_. I…I-I can't do it anymore, Roger. I _can't_."_

_Roger glared. "You sellout. You fucking sellout."_

"_Yes. Fine. Happy? I'm a sellout." Mark nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is that what you want to hear? I don't know what to tell you, but if you can't figure it out then there's really no point in me trying to explain it." Mark turned and swung his bag over his shoulders. He opened the metal door and kept a hand on it, back to Roger as he stepped over the threshold. "You understand; you just don't want to."_

"_No." Roger's words stopped Mark's steps. "This? I'll never understand this, Mark."_

_Mark didn't move. "I'll come back–"_

"_Why? You won't be welcome."_

_Back still to Roger, Mark simply shook his head. "I'm sor–"_

"_Fuck off."_

"_I'll miss you too, Roger."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

As the lasagna was finished off and washed down with glasses of soda and juice, the three bohemians and child separated into two groups. Roger had hopped from his chair with a sweet smile and promptly took hold of Paige's outstretched arm to escort her into his and Mimi's bedroom, where the door had been closed ever since. Mark commenced in a lighthearted contention with Mimi to do the dishes, as he was her guest, but was forced to back down when Mimi refused to let up. Instead, they compromised, and Mark and Mimi stood shoulder-to-shoulder washing dishes in the double sink.

Everything worked into a comfortable atmosphere, the sounds of dishware clinking together drawling a comforting air. Though, Mark had to will himself to swallow his laughter as Mimi continued to get frustrated at her simple task of washing. She'd already dropped a glass to the floor with a mumbled curse, and, as a plate came close to a similar fate, it instead managed to drop into Mark's side of the sink, full of water, splashing them with soapy water. Mimi's curse started this time, but, soon, Mark became lost in translation as she switched barriers to Spanish.

Dabbing his face with a dishtowel, Mark laughed. "Pardon me for asking, but have you done this before?" At the look on her face, he held up his hands in self-defense. He reached over to wipe the droplet of water that ran down her chin and gave a cheeky grin as she shot him a glare. "I didn't think so."

Mimi rolled her eyes. "It didn't look very hard."

"Here, how 'bout we switch. Okay?" Mark sidestepped the skinny woman and handed her the dishtowel he'd been using. "I'll wash, and you can dry." He did an example with one of the plates before placing it on the dish rack to the left. "See?"

With few dishes left, and the process running much smoother, they cut their time in half and managed to get all the dishes into the rack quick enough that Mimi was fast to bring a smile back onto her face. She reached into the sink and took out the plug before moving to grab the dishtowels. "Much better," she said, before looking at her fingers and grimacing at their wrinkled state.

"Coming to respect the bus boy's job, aren't you?" Mark grinned as Mimi whacked his arm playfully. He wiped the remnants of water off his hands by running his palm down the top of his jeans. "Not much of a dishwasher, are you?" Mimi shook her head. "Yeah, it's not my favorite job either."

"It's easier when all we have is takeout. All we have to do then is throw the garbage away." She gestured for Mark to join her in the living room and, once they settled on the couch, turned slightly so they faced each other. She shrugged and rolled her eyes playfully. "My cooking isn't that bad."

"Of course not." Mark smiled. "Forgive me for saying, but I'm surprised the oven actually works."

Mimi shook her head. "Nothing to forgive, that's a legitimate thought; I honestly didn't know until this afternoon. Joanne used to come over in the morning to make breakfast all the time, but her hours changed and we just never cooked anymore. Everything we have is instant, or we go to the Life, or eat at one of the vendors on the street."

"That's not bad, is it?"

"No… Sometimes it's a bit of a chore, but we're not scrounging for money anymore since I got hooked up at the Life Café and Roger's CD sold so well. We're doing fine."

"Sounds like it."

"What about you? You're still as skinny as a twig and Paige isn't even remotely obese. I can't imagine you've been hyping that little girl up on fast food all her life."

Mark laughed. "It's nothing like that. Fast food isn't that bad every now and then but I don't go places like that much because I don't want Paige did get hooked on the crap they offer there. No, Paige has to suffer through my cooking."

"You're cooking isn't bad. I remember most of it."

"That's good to hear, since I'm pretty sure I've gotten better." Mark shook his head as a sudden memory washed through his head. "Audrey tried to teach me a little bit; even got me to whip up a pretty good baked ziti. Cookies and brownies are specialty too. Paige loves those. I've never tried anything fancy, though, just most of the basics."

"So no food tantrums?"

"Baby carrots get a pretty good whine, but I got lucky. Paige loves the green stuff. It's just too bad I don't."

"Ha! Well, that figures."

For some reason, a reason to which he would never question aloud, Mark found a sense of ease in talking with Mimi. They had conversations before, back when he lived in the city, but it was nothing like the talks they had now. Mimi was like the bridge Mark had to the rest of the bohemians and his previous lifestyle. She was the one to accept him unquestioningly and she was the one to actually get him to try to fit back in.

How Mimi had changed, too! There was a new air of maturity in the young woman; an aged wisdom that appeared to early on her delicate features. Not just mentally, though, physically also. Her knee-length net pantyhose had been substituted for waist-hugging jeans and her halter-top was traded in for button-down sweatshirts and casual t-shirts. Nothing flashy, just comfortable.

"Mark?"

Jumping, Mark shot back as he jolted from his thoughts to find himself mere inches from the back of Mimi's hand. His cheeks flushed at being startled and shrugged in embarrassment as he replied, "just thinking" when she asked what was wrong.

Her head cocked to the side and she pressed her lips together. "Thinking about…?"

"You."

Mimi grinned. She held her hands out to the side, palms up, and surveyed herself for a moment. "Have I changed _that_ much?"

"Who am I to say how much you changed?" asked Mark playfully. "I'm the one who came back with a daughter."

Mimi laughed. "True." She looked back up and clasped her hands together. "I'm a little different, aren't I?"

"Not in a bad way," replied Mark without hesitation. "You're older," He chuckled as Mimi rolled her eyes at the age reference. "You're wiser, too. A whole lot smarter and more _beautiful _than ever." As Mimi blushed, Mark chuckled again. "You're more bashful too."

Mimi fisted a hand, placed it underneath her chin to hold her head up, and placed her elbow on the backrest of the couch as she leaned forward. She gave him a small smile. "Well… You know, now that you mention it, you've changed a lot too."

Heat rising to his face, Mark looked down. "I'm not sure I want to hear this."

"Hey," Mimi reached her free hand over and gently tilted his chin up so their eyes could meet. "It's hard to imagine you changing in a bad way."

"Now you're flattering me." Mark blushed outright this time, smiling wide to cover it.

"I'm allowed." Mimi let go of his chin, satisfied she had his attention and began, "You're older." They shared a chuckled. "You look the same, which is never a bad thing. You're still thin and you still have New York fashion sense, but… There's something different." Her hand waved over his eyes and she squint in seriousness. "One look at you and you can tell you're a father."

Mark raised a brow, taken aback. "Am I that obvious?"

"In your actions, yes. You're, if possible, more patient and more caring and more understanding." Mimi shrugged at the explanation, feeling the words did not do him justice. She covered by saying, "You care _very much _for Paige."

Daddy pride welling, Mark nodded. "I do."

"I guess we're both changed for the better than, huh?" whispered Mimi, voice soft and caring. "That's good to know."

"I worried about you," piped Mark, suddenly and without warning, making him blush a harsh red as Mimi smiled in reply. "I couldn't help it, but I did."

"I worried about you," said Mimi, nodding in agreement. "The others did too. Even Roger."

"He's got a funny way of showing it."

"You both have a funny way of showing how you care." Mimi shrugged. "It's understandable that Roger takes this hard, though I'm not defending his more harsh actions."

"Honestly, I think I'd be worried if he welcomed me back with open arms." Mark chuckled nervously, eyes shining as Mimi laughed as well. "I had a talk with Benny earlier though, so I'm hoping to get things started. I mean…we'll talk…I can guarantee you that, but–" He cut off, realizing his words and immediately shook his head. "_We_, as in–"

Mimi shook her head, cutting him off by holding up a hand. "You and Roger. I'm not going to get in the way of that, Mark."

"It's not that I…that w-we… Ah, crap, Meems…"

"I understand. Trust me, I know. The rest of us deserve an explanation, you know that as much as me, but you and Roger are a different matter. I and Joanne and Maureen respect that. We'll hear in time."

Mark leaned across the couch and hugged her. "You're too good to me."

"Damn straight." Mimi laughed as they pulled away. "Now," her hand lingered on his and she pulled him up, "Let's see what those two are doing." Mimi turned the knob of the door and stopped half-way as she opened the door a crack and turned to Mark to press a single finger to her lips. "Awww," she whispered, gesturing Mark forward silently. "Look!"

Mark stepped forward and couldn't help but smile at the scene:

Roger sat on the edge of the bed with Paige settled comfortably in his lap and an acoustic guitar in her lap. His larger hands covered hers as he helped her strum the rock-rendition of Musetta's Waltz as he hummed the tune accordingly while Paige giggled against his bobbing Adam's apple. They finished the set after a couple more strums and Paige leaned her head back against Roger's chest, snuggling into his leather jacket until it wrapped around her like a large blanket. "You're warm, Uncle Roger," she said wistfully.

Roger gently took the guitar from her hands and laid the instrument off to the side. He wrapped his arms around the girl and smiled as she dug deeper into his embrace. "Glad you think so," he answered. "Leather jackets are really comfortable."

"I like it," commented Paige. She stuck her head out and flashed a childish grin as she lisped, "_Musicians _wear leather, don't they?"

Roger laughed. "Not all of them."

"You do."

Roger nodded. "I do."

"Can I get one?"

Shrugging, squeezing her carefully, Roger placed his chin on the top of her head. "We'll see what your daddy has to say about that."

Mark made himself known by knocking on the door before stepping inside. "We'll have to see about that, Paige."

"You spoil her," laughed Mimi. She jabbed his shoulder playfully as she stepped into the room too. "Her birthday _and_ Christmas past not to long ago, you know."

Roger carefully placed Paige on the floor and hopped off the bed after.

"Daddy!" Paige took a step forward and tugged on the hem of Mark's shirt. "Uncle Roger said he could teach me!"

Brow rising, Mark asked, "Teach you?"

"Guitar!" Paige clapped her hands happily. "He said he would as long as you agree. Please? Please, Daddy?"

"Well… I don't know–"

"Please? Please? _Please_?"

"Don't beg, sweetie." Mark squatted down and placed his hands on Paige's shoulders. "Look, I'll talk to Uncle Roger and I'm sure we could come up with some sort of arrangement. Okay?" He looked to Roger and said, "If that's alright with you, that is."

"Hey, I offered." Roger nodded. "No charge, seriously. She's a fast learner, I can already tell."

Biting his lip to keep from arguing, Mark nodded and turned back to Paige. "Good?"

"Yay!" Paige looped her arms around Mark's neck to hug him before jumping into Roger's arms and doing the same to him. "Thank you!"

"No problem, kiddo." Roger smiled, returning the enthusiastic hug.

Paige turned back to Mark and Mimi, still standing in the doorway, before her gaze moved to Roger and then returned to her dad. "Are we leaving, Daddy?" she guessed. Her lip trembled in warning and she clung harder to Roger. "I don't wanna go. Do we have to?"

Mark shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when Mimi stepped forward and responded, "I was hoping me and you would hang out for a while, Paige." She held out her arms and smiled when Paige climbed over to her. "Your daddy and Uncle Roger have some talking to do, so me and you are going somewhere _really__cool_."

Paige's eyes shimmered. "We are?"

"Yup!" Mimi piped happily. "I'm going to show you New York City the way it was meant to be seen."

Still grinning happily, Paige cocked her head in confusion. "How's that?"

"I'll show you." Mimi placed Paige on the floor. "Get your coat and meet me by the door, okay?"

Paige looked to Mark for confirmation and bolted for the coat rack as Mark nodded.

Looking back, Mark looked hesitant. "It's pretty late to be out, Meems…"

"Relax." Mimi smiled, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. "We're not going far."

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XXXXXXXX

"Wow!"

Mimi barely got the door open before Paige rushed forward, heedless of the cold January wind blowing against her tiny body. She smiled as she watched the young girl skid to a stop in front of the half-wall of the roof and move to the tip of her toes so she could place her chin on the cold brick before her. A smile flittered across Mimi's features as she propped the old door open with a lead pipe before walking forward so she stood near the girl. "You like it?"

Paige nodded. "It's _pretty_."

It was barely eight o'clock in the afternoon and the sky had just turned a dim black color. Few stars were visible in the blanket of black above, but they could see the moon off to the right, and it cast a beautifully silver light over the buildings of Alphabet City. Off in the distance sparkles of white could be seen and Mimi, gently picking up Paige so she could get a better look, pointed the scenery out. "That's the city. Remember your daddy taking you over there?"

Paige nodded. "Uncle Benny and Aunt Terry too!"

Mimi nodded. "Them too." She rubbed her hands down Paige's arms and hugged the girl close to warm her. "Cold?"

Paige shook her head absently as she repeated, "Its pretty." She turned in Mimi's arms and asked, "Why did Daddy leave if he likes it here so much?"

Cocking her head at the adult question coming from the innocent girl's mouth, Mimi just gave a small smile. "It's complicated, Paige. Back when your daddy lived here, times weren't as good."

"Time wasn't good?" asked Paige, not understanding. "How can time not be good?"

Mimi chewed her bottom lip, searching her mind for the rights words as she continuously reminded herself that she was in the presence of a five-year-old girl and not one of her older bohemian friends. She carefully turned and slid down the brick wall until she was sitting on the ground. She turned Paige so they were eye-to-eye and ran a finger down the girl's nose, eliciting a giggle. Finally, she replied, "It's complicated, Paige."

"_Everything_ is complicated," complained Paige. "I don't like it."

"Me neither." Mimi forced a smile. "Here…let me… Let me tell you something, Paige. A serious conversation. Understand?"

"_Adult_ conversation," rephrased Paige. "That's what Daddy says."

Mimi nodded. "Okay. Can you be a big girl for me while I explain this to you?"

"I try! I'm a _big _girl."

"Okay… Let me see…" Mimi pursed her lips in thought. "You know how there are some _things_…some things that you can't change?"

Paige nodded. "Daddy told me that. Daddy said that he can't change me from growing so fast."

"That's right!" Mimi nodded.

If it was one thing, she realized Paige was being brought up very fast for her age. She was a smart girl; and she knew things that other kids didn't know until they were in their double-digits. Fortunately, Paige was also level-headed.

"Your daddy had _lots_ of things here he couldn't change, and he didn't like that. Do you understand?" Paige nodded and Mimi continued, "Your daddy is a very smart man. He's also very sensitive and things…well, things not changing was a lot to handle and soon everything was piling up."

Paige's nose scrunched. "Piling up?"

"Like…lots of emotions coming at you. You know when you're happy and sad at the same time?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Like that. Okay? Well, me and Uncle Roger and Maureen and Joanne and Uncle Benny were parts of those changes, so we couldn't…Mark couldn't…" Mimi trailed off and chewed her lip some more. "Mark decided that leaving would help out those changes."

Paige cocked her head to the side. "So Daddy left to try and help?"

"Well… Yes. He left to help."

"Did he help?"

"Sort of." Mimi bobbed her head from side-to-side. "All of us here, in New York, settled into the changes while your Daddy settled into his own change."

"With Mommy?" asked Paige, smiling.

Mimi nodded. "Yes, with your mommy. And your daddy was _very_ happy with your mommy."

"Before Mommy went to sleep?" asked Paige.

Mimi's lips trembled and she blinked as her eyes glazed in response. "Right, Paige."

Paige pulled her legs to her chest and placed her chin on her knees. "How come Daddy and Uncle Roger are weird?"

"Weird?"

"Mm-hmm." Paige nodded. "They talk funny with each other."

"How do you mean?"

"They sound _funny_…different…" Paige shrugged. "It's _weird_."

Mimi nodded. She couldn't deny that Roger and Mark were probably tense around it each other; and she couldn't imagine what it sounded like to somebody that didn't know what exactly was going on. How obvious was it that a five-year-old could sense it, after all?

"Your daddy and Uncle Roger have lots to talk about."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Talk about your déjà vu, _thought Mark, shifting on his feet as he stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Had the setting not been different, it would've felt like the same confrontation as the month before. _It's a broken record, is what it is._ He shifted from foot-to-foot to try and find a comfortable position, but still managed to feel inferior to the man before him. Roger, however, was standing also, and looked no more at ease than Mark did. The man kept his right knee bent as his foot kicked absently at the hardwood floor and his head remained down, eyes averted. Neither, it seemed, wanted to sit.

After another minute of silence, Mark took a breath and dived in by taking a tentative step forward. "You were right, you know." He stepped back when Roger's head remained down, but took Roger stopping his kicking as a positive sign to go on. "My leaving and your leaving to Santa Fe doesn't even compare." Roger said nothing. "I think…well, I think that's because it took me longer to realize what I had here."

Over the days he had been avoiding Roger, Mark had lots of time to think. He thought about what he had to say to Roger when it was time; he thought about how he would say when he needed to say; and he thought about why he had to say what he needed to say. There was the obvious, of course: that Roger needed to hear it because things wouldn't cool down if Mark didn't explain himself, and while that was a good reason, Mark would be lying to himself if he thought it was the only reason.

Roger was his friend– No, his _brother_. That meant a lot, but…if it meant as much as Mark thought it did, then why did he leave?

It was that single question that tormented Mark's mind.

"Benny knows," Mark said. "Well…he knows the edited version, really. I don't know how much Terry told him though. He might know everything; I'm not really sure…" He was rambling this time, he knew that and he couldn't stop. "Benny has been really good to me and Paige. A lot better than he probably should be considering what we did to him when he married Allison. Mimi is good too. She's…she's a good listener, ya know?"

Roger nodded.

Mark groaned inwardly, but continued on, "I-I um, I know I don't deserve much, especially considering how we left things, but I do appreciate everything."

"They…" Roger's mouth opened and closed. He looked up and released a breath through his mouth. "They trust people. Sometimes _too _much."

Mark simply shrugged. "It's still appreciated."

Their eyes caught for a split second before they both turned their heads.

"It's better not to procrastinate," said Roger, clearing his throat. "I'd rather just know."

"There's a lot to tell you…"

"I'm willing to listen."

* * *

**Non-Beta'd / Self-Edited Version**

**Of course I haven't forgotten about this story! A terrible dread washes over me when I glance at the last update date, but I hope this story hasn't been lost in your minds. Sorry for leaving it at a cliffy, I know it's not exactly where you want to stop after all this waiting. Putting everything into this one chapter wouldn't have been good, though. The next chapter will be the explanation, I promise, and that means the return of Collins!**

**Please also take note of the above warning. I know self-editing hurts the eyes of readers across the globe, so I'm sorry for any horrid grammar mistakes and/or spelling mistakes I've undoubtedly made. So, with that being said, let me with you all (if it's your day) a Happy New Year. See you in 2008!**

**RE-SELF-EDITED: March 19, 2008**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**HAPPY DAYS**


	10. Speak Careful and Listen

**Ch10: Speak Careful and Listen**

"The bus was late." Mark laughed humorlessly as he remembered, "I nearly turned back when I realized, because the bus being late screwed up my plans, because I didn't want to be in the city in 1992. I didn't, obviously, you know...turn back. I just sat outside one of those little cafés near the platform and listened to everybody celebrating the New Year and watched the fireworks and thought about…" he trailed off.

Mark knew he had only one chance to tell his story; that the second time wouldn't be near as informative as the first. And that if he didn't do it right, now, then there would be no point in even saying what he had to say.

"I won't tell you what exactly happened after I eventually got on that bus-it's not important." Roger made to speak, to protest, but Mark shook his head, effectively silencing him. "The whole point of what I have to say doesn't have anything to do with how I got there, but why I stayed. And where I stayed was Los Angeles."

This was where he had to start, he knew. Everything that dealt with why he didn't return to New York City was because of what happened in Los Angeles, because everything that happened to him in Los Angeles changed his life, and the change that happened in his life was what caused him to gain the greatest miracle he'd ever witnessed. And Mark would never forget that.

Something of a smile flittered across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck and lowered his head, avoiding any sort of eye contact that Roger may have tried to make-though, that wasn't a real issue considering Roger's head was down and his eyes were averted just the same as his.

Mark raked a hand through his hair and sighed deeply. "I could probably tell you every detail, every moment. I remember it all because it's _her _and..." He shook his head, unable to put it into words. "I'm thankful I at least have that."

**January 1992**

_The moon slunk behind dark, stormy clouds as a flash of thunder illuminated the night before darkness shroud over again. Rain fell with simple patters before it slowly rose to a full onslaught, reverberating against the red-top café._

_He sat at the booth in the corner and she sat across from him; both soaked from the storm._

_His messenger bag lay in a pathetic heap on the floor and his corduroy jacket sat on the seat to his left, nearest the wall, water slowly dripping to the floor from the sleeve, as his scarf, covered with water also, slung across that jacket. He, dressed in semi-dry jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt, cradled a cup of tea and look at her over the rim of his cup._

_She, much in the same manner as him, gazed back over her coffee cup. Her bag, a bulky beige shoulder bag, and her coat, a thin black jacket with white stripes going down the length of the sleeves, lay on her side in the same fashion as his particular items. The difference, a beige vest coated in many pockets lay across her jacket and she was clad in khaki capris instead of jeans._

"_You broke my camera," he said._

"_You broke my camera," she echoed._

_They kicked their bags gently with their foot-his a tattered sneaker and hers a mud coated boot-and each bag rattled, as if proving their point, which, considering the contents of each, probably did._

_They sipped their drinks then, as if as one, dropped their cups, placed their elbows on the tabletop, and intertwined their fingers in front of their chins thoughtfully._

"_Why'd you run into me?" she asked._

"_Didn't you run into me?" he countered._

_Her brown hair rolled over her shoulders and down her back mid-length as she leaned forward. His hand ran through his blond hair as he leaned back in his seat._

_The side of his lip upturned. "Friends call me Mark Cohen."_

_She mirrored him with a beam. "Friends call me Audrey Ram."_

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Meeting Audrey was one of the biggest deals in his life-bigger than finishing his first documentary and bigger than moving out to the city to become independent. There were no words to describe the meeting, no way to bring it justice and no way to bring the memory back. It was in the past and Mark couldn't dramatize that instant, could only tell the simplistic moment that actually occurred.

"We never really figured out who bumped into who, but it turned out not to really matter." Mark massaged the back of his neck. "I bought her a new camera and she bought me a new camera and…for lack of a better definition, it turned out _all right_."

A_ll right _because life isn't a fairy tale and love at first sight is beautiful and magical but isn't something that necessarily occurs. Love takes time.

Why didn't Mark say that? Maybe he thought it was corny or maybe he knew Roger understood.

Really, it was probably because he was embarrassed.

"I called it coincidence that she's Terry's younger sister and I knew Terry from Brown, but Audrey called it fate. She believed in that, but I never really caught on. I still haven't, I don't think, but she got me to question it, and I think that's saying something."

Roger looked up at that and the two locked eyes for a moment before Mark, feeling stupid and awkward, looked away and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"I told her about all of you-about _you_. She didn't understand, didn't really try to understand, and I think she knew I appreciated that, because I didn't want anybody who understands because I don't think anybody can."

"So who was she?"

The question surprised Mark and he jerked his head back to look at Roger, who watched him with calm eyes.

"Somebody who could appreciate my faults and take me in spite of them." It was what everybody wanted, what most people dreamed of, and what seemed like only few had. "We married on December 31st of that year and then almost a year later we became three…"

**December 26, 1993**

_As he sat on the hospital bed he rested close to her so she could lean on his shoulder and look over the pink bundle cradled gently in his arms. A book lay in her lap and they contemplated the contents._

"_Sabrina?"_

"_Like the witch?" asked Mark. He shook his head. No, that wouldn't be her name. "How 'bout Minnie?"_

"_Oh, sure, I pick a television character and you pick a rodent dressed like a human." Audrey wiggled her finger in front of the newborn's eyes and cooed, "Daddy sure is silly, isn't he?"_

_The baby gurgled happily._

"_Fine. We can go with occasion. December? Sunday?"_

"_If you're going to throw those out there I'll toss in Thursday, April, and May."_

_They looked to each other and shook their heads at the same time._

_Audrey took their little bundle of joy from Mark and held her safely in her arms. She peered down at their daughter. "I figured it'd be easy to find a name for a kid. I thought you were supposed to just look down and know what their name should be, like it's a given or something."_

"_You're tying to make it too easy."_

_Audrey snuggled into Mark's side. "It's not though, is it? We have to pick a name and that name will have to stay with her for her whole life. If we pick something bad it'll be on her forever and she'll never forgive us. So what are we then? Bad parents? When she starts school we need her to have a name that won't sound too old, like Beatrice or Veronica might. I mean, sure she'd grow into those names, but she'd be a child. Or what about when she's a teenager? You know those raging hormones. We don't want our daughter to go through those years hating us just because we gave her a dumb name and wha-"_

_Mark laughed, effectively silencing Audrey's tirade. "Now you're trying to make it too hard."_

"_Fine." Audrey huffed "What do you suggest?"_

"_Close your eyes and flip to a page and pick a name." Audrey smiled and Mark laughed. "What? Good idea?"_

"_No, but I like that."_

"_What?"_

_Audrey shook her head, smiled at Mark, then looked back down at her daughter. "Paige."_

"_Paige." Mark tested it out, "Paige Cohen. Paige Cohen." He smiled in approval and looked down at his daughter. "What do you think, sweetie? Are you a Paige Cohen?" The baby blew a spit bubble and Mark laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."_

"_What about middle name?"_

"_You don't want to keep Ram?"_

_Audrey shook her head. "I like that she'll go after her daddy."_

"_Well, she should have a little bit of her mommy too." Mark tried, "What about Audrey? You said Audrey was the name of one of your great grandmother's didn't you?"_

"_Yeah." Audrey nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I like that."_

_Mark wrapped his arm around Audrey's shoulder and hugged her to him. He looked down at the newly christened Paige Audrey Cohen in adoration as he gently stroked her rosy cheek._

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"We never planned to have a child, never really talked about bringing a new life into this world, but it just happened and Audrey gave another point to Fate on that one." Mark smiled and felt a flush fill his face and admitted, "I don't call that fate but I think if you see it yourself then you'll believe it's a miracle too."

Roger shifted and his head dipped down, moving slightly lower than before. Mark made a mental note of the odd movement, but decided not to comment.

"I could…uh-I could tell you every moment of my life with Audrey and Paige, or I can show it to you since I probably have almost every moment on film, but that's not really the point of this conversation." Mark rolled his neck, as if searching for words. "I honestly don't know what you want to hear, though…" He shook his head. "That's a lie, actually. I know what you _want _to hear and, jeezus Roger, I'd love more than anything to tell you that, but you have to understand that I _can't_."

Roger's head whipped up faster than the crack of a whip. "I don't care about what I want to hear. I'm sick of lies. Just tell me the _truth_."

"About _what_?" asked Mark, desperate. "Why I really left? It's not one specific reason, Roger! It's _me_. And I know that's selfish and I know that makes me _weak_, but that's the _truth_. The truth is I got so fed up being surrounded by death that I had to get out! I had to go somewhere where the future didn't include my _best friend dying_!"

"But I'm not dead, Mark!" Roger yelled, holding his arms out as if to prove a point. "I'm _alive_ and I'm _healthy_!"

"I'm not psychic. I couldn't know. But I was certain that I'd watch you die like Collins watched Angel die. It's not the same because we're not lovers, but it's still _you_ and I didn't want to lose you like that. _I __couldn't__handle it__, Roger_. I know you might not understand that, but try to see it from my perspective. First Angel? Who else was next? Collins? Mimi? You? I'd have to witness it all."

"Mark-"

Mark shook his head and continued, "It's hard. I'm not saying it's harder than living with the disease, but it's still hard. A different kind of hard."

"I didn't mean it was easy," said Roger. "If I ever said that, I never meant it."

"You never said it." Mark bit his lip. "Sometimes I think you thought that, but I couldn't never really blame you because you were either angry or depressed when it was implied. But you never stated it directly."

"I never meant it," reiterated Roger.

"I know."

"What about then?" asked Roger. "A few years ago?"

"Sometimes I thought-"

"No. Not that." Roger said and continued, when Mark shot him a look of pure confusion, "You bought my CD. It was released in 1994 and only sold locally. You had to be in the city to buy it and…" Roger heaved a sigh "I know there's a chance you got it just a few days ago and you're just-"

"I bought it the year it came out," interrupted Mark. "I was in the city."

"_Why?_"

"Collins. He tracked me down."

**October 1994**

_Mark lay on his back on the carpet in the living room of his apartment, his pink-clad daughter sitting safely in the little plastic seat near his head, bouncing and gurgling inarticulately as she looked over the side of her seat and glanced down to see the backwards image of her father. She laughed as Mark tickled and softly blew at her feet._

"_Mark? Mark?" called Audrey from the kitchen. She leaned against the doorway connecting the two rooms, a cordless phone cradled against her neck and shoulder. "Phone, baby." As Mark nodded, she walked further into the room and crouched down on the floor beside him and held it out. "You said you were expecting a call about some news story for the station, right?"_

"_I think they're supposed to call tomorrow," replied Mark._

"_You don't want to take it?" teased Audrey, laughing softly. She dangled the phone in front of his face and then moved it back when Mark reached out to swipe it from her. "I can always hang up and see if they call back again. You have their number, don't you?"_

"_Drey…" Mark rolled his eyes. "That call could be important."_

"_Or it could be a bill collector."_

_Mark grinned and reached up and grabbed Audrey around the waist, eliciting a cry of surprise and laughter as he pulled her to the floor and rolled her over so she was on the bottom. "You're in quite a compromising position, Drey."_

"_But I've still got the phone, Cohen." Audrey smirked, holding the devise close to her chest._

"_Don't think I won't grab it."_

_Audrey giggled and held it above them. "How 'bout now?"_

_Mark swooped down and brought Audrey into a long, passionate kiss. She smiled against his lips and, when the time was right, he snatched the phone from her slack grip. He jumped up before she could take it back and grinned down at her triumphantly as she giggled and turned over on her stomach to tickle Paige._

"_Silly Daddy," she cooed to their daughter. "So mean to Mommy."_

"_Sure. Pit her against me at such a young age." Mark rolled his eyes and then turned back to the phone, holding it to his ear and answering in his best professional voice, "Mark Cohen speaking."_

"_Hey, bitch!"_

_Mark dropped the phone and had to scramble to catch it, earning him a look from Audrey and another happy gurgle from Paige. As he got settled, he pressed the phone back to his ear and whispered in disbelief, "C-Collins?"_

_Audrey's eyes widened. She knew that name._

"_That's what my ID card tells me, but I doubt it would hold up in court."_

_That hearty laugh was unmistakable._

"_Collins." Mark couldn't help but laugh too. "Jeezus, how the… How in the world did you get this number?"_

"_I believe you truly underestimate my intelligence, my friend. I've known you've been in Los Angeles this whole time." Collins gave another laugh. "Even knew you had a wife and daughter."_

_Mark's eyes shot to Audrey and Paige, as if thinking he could see them. "You've known?"_

"_Well, I figured the voices in the back where somebody. You just confirmed." Mark could practically see Collins's grin. "Makes a few things more clear on my part, let me tell you._

_Audrey shot Mark a look and mouthed, "What is it?"_

_Mark shook his head. He didn't know. "What happened?" he asked Collins. "Where are you?"_

"_NYC, baby." Collins said, "Angel's anniversary is coming up and I got you a plane ticket so you could come out here to visit me. Do you need a ticket for the wife and kid? I can get some for them too."_

"_Ticket?"_

"_Hard to come by. Don't ask me where I got it because I'll just deny it."_

"_Did-"_

"_Relax, Mark, nothing happened." Collins sounded as happy as ever. Always joyous. "Nobody died. Mimi and Roger are still around and you sure as hell aren't talking to a ghost." Mark didn't say anything to that and Collins probably didn't figure he would because he continued, "So, you coming out?"_

"_W-when? Why?" Mark stammered. "What's wrong?"_

"_I need to talk to you," said Collins. And he sounded serious for the first time in a long time to Mark when he said, "I've missed you."_

"_What about…?"_

"_You don't have to see anybody else. I won't make you and I won't tell anybody. Just come visit me."_

_Audrey placed her hand on Mark's shoulder and reiterated her earlier question, so Mark put his hand to the bottom of the phone and answered, "Collins says he got me a ticket to come out to New York City. He needs to talk to me."_

_Audrey nodded. She paused for a moment before she said, "Go." When Mark asked if she was sure she nodded without hesitation._

"_Collins?" he asked into the phone. "When's the flight?"_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Audrey was good about it. She knew what Collins was to me and she knew going back was something I needed to do. She talked about coming back with me-if only just for a visit-but it never happened. Then Paige came into the picture and any talk about New York was about me getting up the nerve to call."

"You came because of Collins?"

"I don't know how he tracked me down. I took his advice and never asked, but he did say he'd known where I was all along."

"You came because Collins told you we didn't have to know…?"

Mark frowned. "No."

"That's what it sounds like."

"No." Mark shook his head. "I didn't mean that." Miscommunication was exactly what Mark feared. "You didn't hear his voice that day, but you could tell it was different. It was serious. And Collins wasn't serious a lot, you know? Whatever he had to say had to be important. So, I stayed in that hotel room for three weeks-"

"_Three weeks?"_ Roger exploded. "You were in the city for three damned weeks and you never looked for us?"

"I might've saw Joanne, in the city, near her firm. It was the back of her head and I couldn't really tell from the angle I was at, but it could've been her."

"_Joanne_?" spat Roger. "Out of everybody you saw _Joanne_?"

"Maybe. From a distance. It might not have been her."

"That's it?"

"I came for Collins."

**October 9, 1994**

_Mark sat on one of the dark green benches in Central Park with his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clasped in front of his thoughtfully. He blinked slowly and, when he opened his eyes, Collins was in front of him, standing like he'd been there for years._

"_Collins…"_

_Collins was smiling that same gigantic glowing grin of his, a cigar stuck out the side of his mouth, his head was covered in a familiar black beanie and he wore the same coat Angel gave him that long Christmas ago. He didn't seem to have changed and Mark was more than happy because of that._

"_Happy Halloween, bitch," Collins said, blowing a puff of smoke in his face before gathering him up in a gigantic bear hug that Mark couldn't help but cling to. When the older man pulled back, his smile, if possible, raised. "You're tan! Lots of sun in LA?"_

"_Tons." Mark wiped his eyes and pretended it was just a product of a yawn._

_Collins pushed Mark back onto the bench and flopped down beside him, arm over his shoulder and still holding him close. "I see the scarf and camera are a check, but I know that look and I remember what I heard when I called you last week." He squeezed his shoulders. "Where're the pictures?"_

"_Collins…"_

"_Don't even try to sell me a bit about not having any." Collins warned. "You're a damned photographer and, if that's not enough, now you're a proud papa. Every papa has some pictures."_

_Mark took out his wallet and produced two photos. He pointed to one, "That's Audrey, my wife, and me in the living room of our apartment." He pointed to another, "That's Paige, our daughter, a few days after we brought her home from the hospital."_

"_Damn." Collins whistled. "Some family you got there, Mark. Some family."_

"_Yeah…" Mark smiled fondly down at the photos before he tucked them safely back into his wallet and his front pocket. "I don't think you have any pictures to share, but what about you? How are you?"_

"_Joanne and Maureen are still together. Benny moved further into the city a few years ago, but he sends a letter now and then to tell us he's alive. Mimi is clean and she's taking some courses at the local high school, but she's not going back. Roger plays at a few clubs, doesn't have a specific joint, but he got a deal and got a CD."_

_Mark caught the said-CD Collins tossed him. "That's not what I asked," he said, taking a moment to inspect the CD before he tucked it into his messenger bag and looking back up at Collins._

"_You wanted to know, though, didn't you?"_

"_I want to know about you too."_

"_Roger and Mimi are taking their AZT."_

"_And you?"_

_Collins grinned and let out a puff of smoke before he flicked the cigarette to the ground. "I'm thinking about quitting smoking."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"I never had a number to contact him and I could never go to the loft to get him because…" Mark trailed off because the reason was obvious and, because it was obvious, it didn't need to be said. "The only way we could talk was if he called me or came to my hotel."

Talking about Collins hurt and, judging by the look on Roger's face, it hurt not just him.

"We met daily, mostly for lunch but always for desert sometime after eight o'clock. We'd find some ice cream vender on the side of the street and we'd walk around. Everyday I asked him what he wanted to tell me and everyday he'd tell me the same thing, "Not yet"."

"What'd you talk about?" asked Roger somberly.

"Sometimes he'd ask me about Audrey and Paige; sometimes he just let me talk about nothing and everything; other times he told me about his whole day." Mark smiled at the memory. "His stories sounded like something out of a book. I could picture all of you doing whatever he said you did and I felt like I was living it."

"But you weren't."

"No…" Mark agreed. "I wasn't."

"But…still…" Roger's shoulders drooped low "You didn't visit us?"

"I came for Collins," Mark repeated once again. "There was no other reason for my stay other than that simple fact. Collins didn't ask if I wanted to see you all and he never tried to get me to come visit and, because of that, I never did. It was just the two of us."

Talking with Collins all those years ago was a month in which Mark cherished deeply now. Sometimes it was boring and sometimes it felt repetitive, but it was Collins again and that was enough for Mark.

"I'll never know why he wanted me back in the city weeks before he actually told me anything, but I think it's a part of some kinda mind game. Collins was kind of morbid like that. I think he wanted me to stew, wanted me to wait until the very last minute where I had to know..."

"Had to know _what_?" asked Roger.

Mark grabbed the back of his neck and squeezed. "It didn't make sense then because I didn't understand, but I think I do now. Or, maybe I did then, but I didn't want to so I didn't accept it."

"What did he want?" Roger took one long step forward and grabbed Mark by the shoulders and squeezed him and shook him like an empty bottle. "What did he say to you?"

**October 31, 1994**

_It was near midnight when they made the trek, the moon at its peak, full in the blanket of twinkling stars looming overhead. It was a cemetery and it was creepy and it seemed kind of morbid, but they walked on, through the well-tended grass and undergrowth and around the multitude of headstones lined neatly in rows._

_Their destination was the twelfth row, six from the left._

_Angel's grave was simple and neat, tufts of grass sticking out the side and a flat bed jut out front, a vibrant coverlet of yellow, orange, and green atop it. A cup of colorful flowers sat to the side and a pair of drumsticks leaned against the left of the stone._

_Mark stepped forward and laid a candle on the apex. He struck a match and lit it, then stepped back to watch the small flame dance in the gentle wind. "Audrey told me that mourners light candles in an offering to departed spirits to tell them they're missed."_

_Collins plopped down on the ground to the side of the stone, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands on his knees. He reached out to stroke Angel's name, carved in the stone, and smiled fondly, then pulled a bottle of Stoli from his coat and took a long swig._

_Mark shifted uncomfortably and moved to step back, to give his friend some space, but was pulled down to the ground._

"_You all think I need to come do this alone." Collins laughed. "You think you'll be a burden or something because I love Angel and I want to visit her on the day she was buried, but that's not it. I enjoy the company." He took another swig from the bottle and then shoved it in Mark's hands as an offering._

_Unable to say no, Mark took a drink. He coughed and ripped the bottle away from his mouth. As his gaze remained to the sky, he wouldn't look to Collins until he'd wiped a sleeve across his eyes. And when he did, the shiny film of unshed tears was still evident._

"_You're dying."_

"…"

"_Don't tell me it's not true, because I'm not stupid enough to fall for a lie like that and I think you know me better than to actually think I would." Against his better judgment, Mark took another swig of the Stoli. He coughed again as he choked down nearly half of the contents. "I'm still an observer; I notice things others might not pick up on. I think you know that because I think you've been hinting at it for the past three weeks."_

"_Mark-"_

"_Are your T-Cells too low? Is it too far advanced now? Are you out of money?"_

"_Look, man-"_

"_Do you believe you're a lost cause?"_

_Collins simply lowered himself to the ground until he was lying flat on his back and answered with a short shrug._

_Mark, albeit hesitatingly, followed suit so their shoulders were touching. His hand tightened so hard around the bottle of Stoli that he was surprised the neck didn't snap in half. He made a move to speak, but could think of nothing to say._

"_You left New York so you wouldn't have to watch us die," said Collins, a statement, more than a question, which reverberated through the empty air. "But you returned in spite of the fact that you really knew what I wanted to tell you." He turned his head so his hot breath expelled on Mark's cheek. "But I'm not going to tell you, ya know."_

_Mark stared blankly up at the night sky._

"_You can't," he whispered in confession, his voice beginning to break, "I don't want you to die..."_

"_That's something you can't change."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger's hands seemed to tighten on his shoulders as he finished explaining his conversation with Collins that Halloween night, but he refused to look anywhere but the floor. He ran a sleeve under his nose and tried to disguise a sniffle with a cough, but he knew it was useless to hide his emotion.

"He didn't say it directly, but he implied it," said Mark, "I was just too chicken to ask if what I thought was right."

He remembered those three weeks he spent in the city; he remembered the arguments he had with himself about sucking up his fears just to see his friends; and he remembered watching Collins and noticing what shouldn't have been missing from the older man's daily routine.

"Collins told me he was dying-"

"Everybody dies."

"Yes, but… Look, I believe sometimes people have a choice on whether they live or die." Mark bit his lip, he looked up to Roger and confessed, "And I believe Collins chose to die-"

The sound of flesh against flesh reverberated through the air.

Mark hit the floor. He scrambled, pushing himself to a sitting position as his hand flew up to cradle his already-swollen right cheek, and he looked up just in time to see Roger reeling back a fist.

"_Don't you say that._" Green eyes burned with unnatural fury. "_Don't you fucking say that_."

"He didn't kill himself," said Mark, unperturbed about the hit but still numb from the contact. He had been expecting something, and the punch was well received. "He _wouldn't_."

"Then what the hell are you trying to say_?_"

"He wasn't taking his medicine!" yelled Mark. "He stopped! I don't know why and I don't know when, but he did! Maybe it can be read as killing himself or just plain giving up, but-"

Roger shook his head, interrupting, "What the hell would you know? You weren't here when Collins died. You don't know what happened! He was in his apartment, in his bed, and he was alone. He died _alone_."

"Maybe that's why he wanted!" suggested Mark. "Maybe he wanted to go out without having to see our faces pulled by grief of his passing. He saw what happened to Angel and he didn't want to put us through that!"

"Goddamn it!" Roger's hands flew up and grabbed a fistful of his own hair. "That's not right!"

"He died. It _shouldn't _be right." Mark shook his head. "It's probably not simple and we'll probably never know the logic behind the situation, but there probably is a reason. Maybe he _was_ dying. Maybe the medicine _wasn't_ working. _I don't know,_ _Roger_."

"So, what?" asked Roger. "You believed he stopped and you just let him. You went back to your precious home in the suburbs and you forgot about him until it was too late?"

"The next day he sent me a one-way airline ticket back to LA for that day." Mark bit his lip and hung his head at the memory, "He sent me a note that told me good bye and good luck and he complimented me for finding Audrey and for having Paige. That's it. Maybe I could've-" He stopped himself. "But that's too many _maybes. _In the end I couldn't have done anything. It was Collins's choice."

"You gave up on him."

"No," responded Mark without hesitation. "No, giving up on him would've been not coming back to the city at all."

"Then _I_ gave up on him." Roger plopped down on the couch in the living room of the loft and dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders shook. "I saw him every damn day and I didn't notice. You came back for three weeks and figured everything out. That doesn't make sense. _Nothing_ makes sense."

Mark rolled onto his knees then placed his palms against the hardwood floor, pushing to move himself into a standing position. He turned to where Roger was sitting and crouched down to his eyelevel. "I left because I wanted things to make sense," he told Roger, voice a notch above a whisper. "And that was stupid. I should've known that and I should've figured it out sooner and I don't have an excuse for not knowing; but I can now say that I understand that there are things that I can't control, and-you know what?-that's all right, because sometimes we have to let things run their course. And sometimes it sucks and sometimes it hurts, but that's life and there's no greater explanation for it because we just have to deal and move on."

Roger sniffed and scrubbed a hand down the length of his face before he looked up with a small smile. "Took you seven years to figure that out, huh?" he asked. "Figured you to be smarter than that, you know."

"Yeah, well…" Mark shrugged. He plopped himself onto the cushion next to Roger and leaned back in exhaustion.

Roger nodded absently, leaned back to, and turned his head to face Mark. He winced at what he saw. "You need some ice for that?" he asked, gesturing to his cheek. "I didn't mean to hit that hard."

"'S okay- but… What about _us_? Are we good now?"

"I don't know."

"What do you think?"

"…I think…I think we're _all right_."


	11. Benny Again

**Ch11: Benny Again**

The next morning, Mark returned home from walking Paige to school and found Benny leaning against the side of the building. He was wearing a half-smile as he pushed away from the wall and, as he shoved his hands into his pockets he said, "You know what you need right now? Waffles."

And fifteen minutes later, Mark and Benny were seated in a red booth at a hole in the wall restaurant sharing plates of the breakfast, each stacked ten high and topped with either butter, syrup, powdered sugar, chocolate chips, or a variety of berry, as they sipped coffee from white ceramic mugs.

And, while he'd been wary at the man's idea at first, Mark found that he appreciated the simplicity of everything. The calm atmosphere and Benny's familiar no-nonsense attitude was soothing. It kind of reminded him of Brown.

Benny laughed when Mark voiced that particular thought aloud.

"_Waffles _remind you of Brown?" He took a pull of his coffee and coughed back another chortle. "If that's the case, your education _must've_ been screwed."

Mark chuckled. "Why do you think I dropped out?"

Benny simply shook his head in amusement. He pressed a plate of syrup waffles into Mark's hands and traded them for the chocolate chip waffles that were sitting near the filmmaker.

Mark breathed in the silence as he proceeded to cut the traded stack of fluffy treats drenched in dissolved sugars and bit his lip in thought. After a moment he blew out a breath. "So… Are you gonna to ask?"

Benny sipped his coffee more thoughtfully this time. "Figured you'd up and volunteer the information if you were wanting to share it with me."

Licking his lips, Mark decided around a mouthful of blueberry waffle, "There really isn't much to tell." He paused for another second to chew before continuing, "I told him what I told you, maybe a bit more because it's _Roger_, but not enough to change the truth and _thanks_, by the way, because I took what you told me to heart and if we hadn't talked then I probably couldn't have…" He swallowed hard and shrugged.

Truth be told, in the past month Benny had been one of the best friends he'd had and he'd learned to value the businessman's opinions.

"We're _all right_. Maybe not great, but we're getting there."

Benny nodded and pointed a fork at him. "So I don't need to worry about that shiner 'round your right eye?"

"This?" Mark prodded the wound and winced as his silverware dropped down onto his dish with a loud clatter. "No, this was nothing. More my fault, really. Something I shouldn't have said."

Benny arched a brow but said nothing as he brought back his fork and chewed the waffle that was stabbed onto it, eyes never leaving the purplish-blue spot decorating the underneath of Mark's eye.

"Honestly," said Mark, trying to keep peace. "We worked it all out. The pain in the ass was trying to explain to Paige that Roger and I weren't throwing paint at each other."

Eyes falling away from the bruise, Benny chuckled at that. "What did you tell her?"

"That I got hurt on accident. No more and no less."

"She'll wonder eventually."

"Hopefully later rather than sooner. She's barely five years old. I don't think if I explained anything to her now she'd understand anyway."

"So you haven't told her about Davis and Mimi…?"

"Pain and death…" _HIV and AIDS. _Mark shook his head. "That's a conversation I'd much rather put off."

Benny nodded in understanding and, seemingly able to sense the suddenly tense air, skillfully managed to segue into another topic of conversation--something Mark was grateful for. He leaned over to grasp the menu that had been pushed aside and scanned the choices. "We probably should've ordered something else too, huh?"

Pressing a hand to his stomach in exaggeration, Mark shook his head as he leaned back into the booth, taking the change with stride. "Nuh-uh. No way. You should've said something earlier. I'm about ready to split." He pulled the napkin that was lying over his lap like a blanket and pressed it onto an empty plate.

Benny took his own napkin and folded it carefully before he too placed it over an empty plate, silverware on top to indicate he was done. He pulled his arms over his chest and said, "No problem. Haven't had a breakfast like that in a long time." He eyed their empty plates as a waitress came to collect the mess and commented, "Wouldn't be what I would call healthy…"

"No, but it was _good_. I'll have to bring Paige here sometime."

Benny pressed two twenties onto the table and shook his head as Mark pulled out his own wallet. "Think of this as my treat. A welcome back to New York City." He gave a small smile. "A bit overdue, of course."

"Thank you."

And Mark was certain Benny understood that he was talking about more than just the breakfast.

**December 1991**

_They stood on the roof looking out at the holiday decorations blinking in the distance. Benny had his back leaned against the half-wall and was cradling a cup of hot coffee in a gloved hand and Mark was standing ramrod straight with his fists buried deep into the pockets of his corduroy jacket. It was snowing and cold, but neither moved from the other's side._

"_Five hours before your taxi comes and you're already taking goodbyes." Benny was saying between sips of his coffee. He pressed a hand to his mouth and coughed to clear his throat. "I'm not trying to tell you how to do this, but I am asking you to think before you keep going like you are." When his companion didn't respond, Benny let out a heavy sigh. "You're burning out, Mark."_

_At that statement, Mark turned to Benny and gave a half-smile that didn't meet his eyes. "I think we established that when I told you I was leaving the city."_

_Benny frowned. "That's not funny." He set his empty styrofoam cup down and turned so his forearms rested on the half-wall and his hands intertwined. He heard Mark shift from foot to foot behind him but didn't move, just continued looking at the city. "It's a helluva place to leave."_

"_I know. And I know it hasn't been long since I made my decision, but it's definitely not one I made lightly."_

"_I would never assume so."_

"_If you had I'm sure you wouldn't have left your heated twenty-plus story apartment to come to a cold, former music publishing factory filled with drunk, cussing bohemians."_

_Benny laughed. "If you remember, I did live here for four years."_

_Mark smiled. "Of course. Me, you, Roger, and Collins." He stepped forward to lean against the half-wall too, his shoulders inches from Benny's. "You know, I never did thank you for dropping out of Brown to come to the city with me."_

"_Ended up being a good decision," admitted Benny. "One of the best." He wasn't one for nostalgia, but this wasn't a normal night. "You know the year where it was just the four of us? Before Maureen and April and Allison and the whole HIV/AIDS?"_

"_The golden year," dubbed Mark._

"_Comparing it to everything that happened after," Benny nodded, "That's exactly what it felt like." He tilted his head up to look at the night sky, pausing contemplatively. "I know I promised you all things--"_

_Mark interrupted, "It doesn't matter now, Benny."_

_Benny turned too look at Mark. "You always did cast me in a better light than the others."_

"_That's because I know you better."_

"_And I know you."_

_Mark blinked. After a moment he nodded. "Yeah. You do know me."_

_Benny stared at him for a moment before he nodded in return and pushed himself back from the half-wall. "And, with that note, I think we should be getting you back to your farewell gathering." As his hand hovered before the door leading away from the roof, he turned to Mark once more and asked, "So, was that it?"_

"_Was that what?" asked Mark, confused._

"_My goodbye."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Almost a month had gone by since he returned to the city and had somebody told him eleven years ago that he'd be walking the streets after sharing plates of waffles with Benjamin Coffin III, a man who had become an honorary uncle to his daughter, Mark wouldn't have believed it for even a half a second.

Benny had changed though. He was more of the man Mark had known when he first met him at Brown. Back when they were younger, bored of their classes and ready to ditch and head to the big city. Before Muffy, and rent, and _life_ got in the way.

In Mark's mind Benny had been two people back then. He had been Benny and he had been Benjamin Coffin III. It was the former that had had goals and dreams just like the rest of the bohemians, but it was the latter that had decided to take any road possible to achieve those goals and dreams. And, somewhere along the lines, Mark really wasn't sure when, Benny had decided this was not acceptable and that's, Mark believed, how he ended up divorced from Muffy and dating Terry. And that's when he'd gone back to being Benny. Just Benny.

"What're you thinking about?"

"You."

Mark flushed. So wrapped up in his thoughts, he'd let his mouth move before his brain could think. His eyes shot down to the sidewalk below and he suddenly found new interest in his shoes. Benny, however, chuckled, causing him to look up.

"Oh?" The businessman prodded, "Anything in particular?"

Feeling his face heat up in embarrassment, Mark shook his head. "Nothing. Just some stupid thoughts."

"I'll try not to be offended by that."

"No, I mean, it's just--_Look_, I don't want to be nosey because you've been real good to me about LA and Collins and this whole mess with Roger and--"

Benny stifled another laugh, obviously amused by his floundering. "Look, man, I understand things are difficult for you. You know I understand. Believe me though, we're friends--or, at least, I like to think we're friends again."

"Yeah, we are but--"

"But, nothing," Benny interrupted. "You reserve the right to ask me anything."

"No." Mark shook his head. "I don't."

Benny smiled. "Fine. Then I'm giving you the right."

After a moment of hesitation, weighing the options in his head, Mark realized Benny probably wouldn't let up either way and admitted, "I was just thinking about how much you've changed." He shrugged, apologizing for what, he wasn't sure. "I mean you're…_Benny_ again."

"I'm…" Benny raised a brow, confused and intrigued. "Benny again?"

"You're not an asshole anymore."

Benny laughed at that.

"It's not funny." Mark couldn't help but smile as he ran over what he had said in his mind. "Okay, maybe that part was funny but…" He bit his lip, tying to find the words, "I'm just saying that it's like you're _you_ again. Like you're the same Benny I first met and not…"

"Not yuppie scum Benny?"

"Yeah." Mark shrugged pathetically. "I'm sorry but--"

"No man, look, I get it." Benny shook his head, swallowing the leftover of his laughter. "I mean, I understand where you're coming from--I was an asshole to you all--you just took me by surprise." He put a fisted hand to his mouth and cleared his throat and asked, "What brought about that train of thought?"

"I don't know." Mark sighed. He sidestepped a fire hydrant on the sidewalk and mulled over his thoughts as Benny cast him a sidelong glance. "I've been thinking about what I told Roger and what I told you and…" Mark struggled with the words. "It's not even been a month since I've been back in the city and it's like everything that's happened so far is just catching up to me right now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when I bought a plane ticket back to the city I prepared myself for things to be different." He bit his lower lip and shook his head. "I was pessimistic. Out of everything that ran through my mind, out of all the possibilities that I thought could be waiting, I could only think of what I'd been running from: pain, misery, death…"

Benny gave a smile in understanding. "And now that you know that's not the case, you don't know how to feel."

Mark nodded, then shrugged, then nodded again. "I don't feel bad about leaving. I _can't_. Not after everything I got out of it. I mean, I loved Audrey and I love Paige; and I'm more than grateful that things aren't as I had feared, but I still can't help but feel bad for _not_ feeling bad."

"But you don't have to feel bad for not being here. With or without you, we kept going and, I'm sorry if that sounds rude, but it's true and--"

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for me, Benny."

"Look Mark, we _all_ changed; not any one of us more than the other, but all of us in _different_ ways."

"I think I'm finally beginning to understand that."

* * *

**Hope people are still here with me. Just wanted to apologize for not getting a chapter up sooner than this, but I thought better late than never. Sorry for ending so bluntly but the next chapter I've got needed a sort of segue. I know Maureen and Joanne have been on the backburner, but they'll come in. This story still has to go through a major event and then I've got the prologue. Everything's thought up, just needs to be written down.**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**

**Happy Days**


	12. Forget Regret

**Ch12: Forget Regret**

**January 6th, 6:20 AM, Eastern Standard Time**

He shuffled on the spot as the large metal door slid open to reveal Roger, hair mused and dressed in a pair of plaid green pajama bottoms and a black shirt, obviously surprised to see him. "Sorry," Mark greeted, berating himself mentally for the tact. "I--uh…_sorry_. Is this a bad time?"

"Shit, man." Roger leaned tiredly against the doorframe and scratched the back of his head. "It's _early_."

As Mimi, yawning and rubbing at her eyes, appeared, Mark stuttered another apology. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "This is a bad time," he said, speaking more to himself than to the couple before him. "I should've realized you two would still be sleeping. I'll just--"

"Did something happen? Is it Paige?" " interrupted Mimi, more awake now. Even Roger seemed to jolt at that, straightening slightly. Mimi scanned him concernedly. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Paige is fine. She's with Benny and Terry." Mark raised his hands in front of him, a sign of surrender, but for what he didn't know. "I'm sorry," he couldn't help but say again. "I was just hoping to talk to Roger." He dropped his hands, suddenly feeling silly.

"Talk?" Roger cocked a brow. "Right now?"

"Maybe later. This afternoon? I can come back after lunch? Or before dinner--uh…if that's all right with you."

"No. Now is good. I'm up now anyway."

Mark looked up, surprised. He hadn't really thought Roger would willingly talk to him right now. Even though they'd had the conversation the day before, things were still pretty awkward between them. As Roger moved to open the door wider, allowing him entrance, Mark's cheeks flushed and he quickly shook his head. He shuffled on the spot again as the couple gave him an odd look.

"Maybe we could go for a walk? I was wanting to go visit….uh, Collins, you know, and I was wondering if you might…go…too because I really don't know where…" he gulped the words down and shrugged helplessly.

Roger blinked. "Same place as Angel. Right next to him."

"Oh…"

Roger backed away from the doorway and turned on his heel to reenter the loft. "So, come in," he said, heading to the door that led to his and Mimi's bedroom. "Wait a sec and I'll toss something on and we can go." He shut his bedroom door behind him.

Mark remained, stunned, in the doorway, before Mimi tugged his wrist, kicking him back to life as she gently led him into the living room. "Come in." She gestured to the couch, "Do you want to sit?"

"No, thanks, I'm sure it'll only be a few seconds." He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly and frowned as he got a better look at her, dressed only in a pair of gray sweats and one of Roger's old band shirts. "I'm real sorry for waking you, Meems."

"No big deal," Mimi waved the apology away, "I have to get ready in a few minutes anyway. I'm on the early shift at the Life Café all week."

"I'll stop in tomorrow for coffee," he promised. "We can talk, just the two of us."

"Come by at around ten," she suggested. "I'll be able to take a break and we can sit down and talk properly."

It wasn't long before Roger emerged from the bedroom, shrugging on his trademark leather jacket and wrapping a green scarf around his neck. He gave Mimi a kiss on the cheek and reminded, "Pills for this afternoon are on the bathroom counter." When she asked him if he had his, he patted his breast pocket in response before he turned to Mark. "Ready?"

Mark nodded and led the way out the loft and down the stairs. It was snowing a little outside, not enough to deter, and Mark simply adjusted his messenger bag a bit and tugged his green corduroy jacket a bit tighter around him, blocking out the city's cold morning chill.

"We'll take the subway," said Roger, heading toward the nearest entrance. After a few steps, he stopped and turned to ask, "Do you have a MetroCard yet?"

Mark nodded and took it out. "Got it a few days ago when I took Paige sightseeing." He turned the little yellow card and inspected the blue letters and black strip. "A lot more handy, but I kind of miss using tokens."

Roger simply nodded, seemingly happy with the response.

They were lucky in that the morning rush hour hadn't officially started yet, so they shared a car with only two people, a man in a black suit reading a newspaper and a lady with a cane. They sat across from each other on the orange seats, Mark, ramrod straight with his hands in his lap, and Roger, fists rammed deep in his pockets and slouched low in his seat.

The man in the suit rushed out the doors at the first stop and the lady hobbled out two stops later, leaving them alone for the rest of their trip.

Roger straightened in his seat and sighed. "What made you want to go today?" he asked finally, breaking the silence and deciding to get straight to the point.

"Benny and I got to talking about change yesterday and that made me bring out my old film reel." Mark leaned forward to balance his elbows on his thighs so he could rest his chin on clasped hands. "I was watching some footage of Collins and it hit me that I never really got to…"

"Say goodbye?"

"Yeah…" he trailed off, wondering. He met Roger's eyes briefly before he had to look away. "Yeah, that's it."

It had been a sort of epiphany that had hit him earlier in the morning, had jolted him awake with a sudden start that had him hyperventilating for some unknown reason. When he saw, in his mind's eye, that carefree grin and that bottle of Stoli, he'd known where he needed to be. So, before he'd gone up to Roger's loft, he'd called Benny and got him and Terry to come over so they could look after Paige and take her to school.

"He's really helping you a lot."

Mark looked up, brow furrowed and eyes questioning. "Huh?" he asked, unsure he'd heard correctly. When Roger repeated himself, Mark asked, "Who?"

"Benny. He's really helping you a lot."

Mark smiled a little and nodded, suddenly reminded of the conversation he'd had with the man in question just yesterday morning. "He's been helping me understand some stuff, you know? We both kind of sold out in our own way."

"Look," Roger readjusted himself on his seat, shifting uncomfortably, "when I said you were a sellout… You have to understand I was angry and…" He looked up and gave a little laugh, easing the tension immediately.

Mark was confused though and asked him what was wrong.

"When you left I went on this rant for a few weeks about you being a sellout and….well, I guess Maureen got a little tired of it. One day, in the middle of dinner, in the middle of one of my rants, she slammed the dictionary on the table and told me what a sellout really was: _a person who compromise's one's own integrity and morality for success._ She said that wasn't you."

"She defended me?"

"Of course she did. Maureen loves you."

Mark blinked, unsure of what to say.

"What I'm trying to say is that," Roger leaned forward now, catching Mark's eyes, "I didn't mean even half of what I said then. I was just angry and…" Mark knew this was hard for Roger. "And I was _hurt_."

Mark was stunned. He didn't know what to think of Roger's confession and he didn't know what to think of Maureen defending him while he was gone. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Mark didn't get the chance to say anything in response; soon their train was rolling to a stop at their destination and Roger got up fast, leading the way out the door and back up to the street.

When they got to the cemetery it stopped snowing. The grass was kind of dull and the trees were disturbingly bare, but pure white was sprinkled everywhere making it look hauntingly beautiful. Mark's hand immediately went to his messenger bag, but he stopped just short of opening the flap and looked to Roger, feeling guilty when he caught the man eyeing him.

"I'm uh…"

Roger looked away and shrugged. "Do what you gotta do."

Mark gave Roger one last long look before he grabbed his camera and recited the date, time, and location. He panned left and closed in on the steeple of the church for nostalgia's sake as he followed Roger down the line of headstones. After a moment, he focused on Roger, but he quickly whipped away. Roger didn't say anything though, so Mark took this as his permission to be included in the footage.

Roger slowed his pace suddenly so that he and Mark were walking side-by-side. "Collins didn't have a will or anything, just a note he apparently carried on him that had our names--me, Mimi, Maureen, Joanne, Benny and you--and said we were to decide how everything would be divided up and taken care of."

Mark swallowed an apology. He knew that wouldn't help.

"Joanne handled most of everything, but we all cleared out his apartment together. He didn't have much, but we all took whatever reminded us of him and gave everything else to charity." He looked to Mark. "Mimi and I have some stuff, you know, if you want anything."

"Yeah," Mark nodded. "Definitely. If you don't mind. I'd like to take a look."

Roger nodded as well.

They got to the headstone then and Mark took a moment to get a shot of it, beautifully reflected by the warm light and sitting peacefully next to Angel. When he was done, he turned his camera off and carefully put it back into his bag before he took his messenger bag off his shoulder and set it on the ground near Roger, who stood a bit off to the side. Mark then took a lighter out of his bag.

"What's that for?" asked Roger, stepping forward a bit to see, growing more confused as Mark showed him a small white candle.

"Something Audrey taught me," Mark told him. He straightened and went to the headstone, balancing the candle carefully on the apex and lighting it, inspecting it for a moment before backing up to stand next to Roger. "It's a sort of offering." He shrugged. "Warmth and light to give back to those who gave us the same."

Roger nodded a bit. "Yeah, I can understand that." He sat down in the grass, urging Mark to do the same. "So," he said. "I remember you said you wanted to talk, so I'm going to guess this wasn't the only reason you wanted to come down here."

Mark pulled his legs close to his chest and rested his forearms on his knees. "I feel like there's more that needs to be said. I talked a lot about what happened to me while I was in LA, but I didn't necessarily explain what made me leave."

"You did." Roger acknowledged, "You said there wasn't one specific reason."

"And there isn't," Mark agreed, "but that doesn't mean I shouldn't explain myself better; and I need you to realize that the only person that I need to understand any of this is _you_."

"Mark--"

"Don't." Mark interrupted, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Roger, look, you're my _best friend_--and you don't have to tell me I'm yours, okay?--but, come on, you have to know that you're still a big part of my life, seven years gone or not."

Roger moved to speak, but Mark shook his head, wordlessly asking to finish, moving on only when Roger nodded his head for him to continue.

"I need you to know I'm not asking for forgiveness, and even if you were offering I wouldn't be able accept it. I understand I was selfish, so I can understand if you hate me forever too. I've made peace with that. I've also made peace with knowing that nothing will be the same. That it _can't _be. I'm just trying to make sure there isn't any confusion between us. I don't want there to be something left unsaid."

"Jeezus Mark," Roger sighed, clearly uncomfortable. "You know I'm no good at a heart-to-heart. I don't _do_ this crap."

"I think if we'd had this conversation before, I wouldn't've left…"

Roger blinked, stunned.

Mark confessed, "And I'm sorry that it took me seven years to get to this point. I really didn't want to leave that way."

"I didn't exactly make it easy," admitted Roger. "But what I said that day? I didn't mean any of that either. Not about you being a sellout and not about you not being welcomed back. I mean," he chuckled humorlessly as he scratched the back of his head, "I know I was a bastard those times we saw each other before, but I was--no, I mean, I _am _glad you're back." He stopped and cast Mark a glance. "I wanted you to know that."

"I do now. And I understood why you acted the way you did." Mark said, "But I don't ever want you to feel like I forgot about any of you--of _you_--because I didn't. I _couldn't_."

"I would never assume you could."

"Look," he furrowed his brow, swallowed the words, and looked away, "I just…"

Roger said nothing, simply allowed him his time to find the courage to speak.

"I was just scared, Roger," confessed Mark, biting his lip and shaking his head back and forth. "I was just so fucking scared of all of you dying that I just couldn't take it. Okay? I was just _scared_." His shoulders trembled as he heaved in a deep breath and exhaled. "Mimi almost _died_ and you had gotten so _pale_ and Collins was just so _sick_. Everybody was fading and it…I couldn't…" He scratched at his eyes beneath his glasses, gasping.

"And you just left?"

"I _ran away._" Mark looked up and swiped at his eyes hoping Roger wouldn't see the build up of moist that had glazed his vision. "And I should never have let it come to that. I should've said _something_ and I shouldn't have run."

"I would've listened," said Roger. "I wouldn't've understood, but I would've listened."

"And I should've known that too, but even when I was in LA I was scared. I was scared you all had died and there wouldn't be anything or anybody to come back to. I couldn't lose any of you--I couldn't lose _you _Roger. I thought if I stayed away I could make believe that you were living, that you would live _forever_. I thought if I didn't witness your death then I could keep that notion up."

"So you stayed," Roger filled in. "You stayed in LA for seven years."

"I stayed in LA and I met Audrey and she helped me forget." Mark continued, "Then she realized why I'd run from New York and she _made_ me remember. She made me realize that I could never forget--that I _shouldn't_--but it wasn't until her death that what she'd been trying to tell me finally made me realize that I couldn't keep running from what I was afraid of."

"Our deaths?" asked Roger, showing that he was following. "_My_ death?"

Mark nodded. "I'll never understand why Audrey was taken from me. _Never_. It's not fair--just like it's not fair that you and Mimi may die before your time--but I made peace with it. Even in death, she taught me to make peace with it."

Roger let out a dry chuckle as he realized. "You came back to New York for her."

"For her, for me…" Mark shrugged. "For _you_." He gave Roger a somber look. "I didn't know what I would come back to find and I thank every little fiber of my being that you and Mimi are still alive and that I can tell you I'm sorry for what happened between us and that I can tell you I'm such a fucking _moron_ for letting it happen."

"Then _I_ can tell you _I'm _sorry for being such a fucking _moron_ for letting it happen too," said Roger with a small smile. "I know you said you can't accept my forgiveness, but I'm still giving it to you, because I think we need to take Mimi's advice and just _forget regret_, because I'm so fucking tired of being angry with you." He swung an arm around Mark's shoulders and pulled him close. "Because I missed you so fucking much."

They hugged then. It wasn't awkward and it wasn't weird, but it meant so much more than it had ever meant before because, in that moment, they understood each other a little better.


End file.
